


The Sins of the Father

by GervaiseAlfyn



Series: Champions of Light [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GervaiseAlfyn/pseuds/GervaiseAlfyn
Summary: This concerns events that occur in the Brecilian Forest in the summer of 9:45.   Members of the forest community have been going missing in mysterious circumstances but evidence seems to point towards the Dalish being responsible.  Bann Oswyn Sighard of Dragon's Peak feels responsible for investigating the matter as his protectorate includes the northern half of the forest.   He advertises for mercenaries to assist with the task on the Chanter's Board both locally and in Denerim.  Many answer the call but only two stand out as of particular note, Issala the Tal-Vashoth warrior and Ellas a mage with Dalish connections.   With the aid of his loyal retainer, Jasce Wolfsbane, an Ash Warrior, Oswyn sets out with his recruits for the village of Brandyholme deep within the forest but events soon take a sinister turn.





	1. Chapter 1

Chanter’s Board Notice: (Denerim)

An esteemed patron is looking for righteous souls to undertake a quest on his behalf.   People within the Brecilian Forest have been going missing in mysterious circumstances. He wishes the matter investigated forthwith and those responsible brought to justice or otherwise dealt with. Terms to be negotiated on application to said patron but a heavy purse is guaranteed plus a bonus for the safe return of the freeholders.   Preference will be given to those with local knowledge, in particular concerning the Dalish. 

Those wishing to be considered for this venture should present themselves to the Keep at Dragon’s Peak not later than eight bells two days from now.

 Signed and sealed by: Bann Oswyn Sighard of Dragon’s Peak

 *******      

             Two days after the posting of the notice, there was a larger than normal cache of correspondence on his study table, including three marked with the royal seal. His secretary, Burran, had opened the majority of the missives and placed them in order of importance but the royal despatches had been left untouched and simply marked with the time of arrival.   The first had apparently arrived after he had retired to bed the previous evening, the second around dawn (Burran must _really_ have appreciated that one) and the third shortly after breakfast that morning.   The first and the third were hand written with large, unsophisticated letters that indicated Alistair had written it himself rather than used a scribe. The second was equally hand written but in a small, neat, elegant script. He opened the first.

  _Dear Oz…._

Alistair only used his pet name for Oswyn when he was planning on a casual visit, or wanted a personal favour, particularly if he didn’t want Anora to know.   Oswyn wasn’t overly fond of the epithet but had felt it wasn’t worth making a fuss over.   Alistair had always had his own peculiar style and it was a small price to pay for his friendship _._

_It is proving unbearable in the city what with the heat and the relatives bickering. I need a break from it all.   Thought I would pay you a visit at the end of the week but for something more than simply a long weekend._

             _See you then. Al._  

             Oswyn groaned inwardly; Alistair’s timing couldn’t be worse what with his current problems and the tardy response from potential recruits locally. Then again, perhaps the timing was spot on.   Oswyn checked the date at the top of the letter and sure enough it was written the day after his notice was posted on the Chanter’s Board in Denerim.   Alistair was clearly planning on involving himself in the investigation.   Oswyn sighed.   Now he was going to have the added problem of dissuading him without offending his feelings.

              On the face of it, you would think that King Alistair wanting to participate in the venture was a good thing. Nothing like the monarch of the realm taking an interest in local affairs; he could just imagine that would be the argument that his friend would employ. Alistair would doubtless also point out he had knowledge of the Dalish, even if such knowledge was confined to his interaction with the clans as part of the Hero of Ferelden’s forces in the Fifth Blight.   He would conveniently overlook the fact that relations with the Dalish had somewhat cooled subsequently owing to the Dalish being ‘miffed’, as Alistair put it, over him not coming through on something he had promised them in the aftermath of the archdemon’s death. Oswyn had never been told the exact details but he could guess that Alistair got carried away by the euphoria of the after the battle celebrations and had made some rather rash promises before Anora was able to reign him in. Alistair was a good fighter but no diplomat and this situation might well turn out to need a deft touch. No, on the whole, Alistair trying to resolve matters without Anora was likely to be as successful as putting itching powder on a baby.  

              “Maker help us all!” he thought and turned to the second letter, which he guessed, no, hoped was a much needed reprieve.

_Dear Oswyn_

_I gather Alistair has been using the State ravens for private correspondence again and he has been avoiding me all day. That means he is up to something and it likely involves you. I don’t know what he was planning but be assured I intend to get to the bottom of this and it won’t be happening._

_Sorry for the rant, I know it is not your fault. Honestly at times he can be so irresponsible and yet when I catch him at it and he looks at me with those sad eyes, I feel like I’m kicking a puppy. Well, you know how it is._

_Hope this letter finds you as well as is possible._

_Much love, Anora_

              Oswyn breathed a sigh of relief.   “And people say the Maker doesn’t answer prayers,” he thought.  He could already guess what the third letter would say but he opened it anyway.

_Dear Oz,_

_Scratch the appointment in your diary. She who must be obeyed has put her foot down and won’t let me leave. Apparently she has arranged for some sort of diplomatic visit by an Antivan trade delegation and it is absolutely essential that I attend.   I can’t see why since I won’t be allowed to do anything without her approval. I’ll probably just spend my time rubber stamping agreements that she negotiates with them.   Still, it will probably keep the relatives off my back for the duration, so I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies._

_So it seems I will be unlikely to get away before the end of the month. By then I suppose all the fun will be over.   Such is my lot._

_Best of luck. Al_

Clearly he had been right about the stimulus for the first letter. Poor Alistair, he did sympathise with him.   Then again, he could see it from Anora’s point of view too. She had been carrying the kingdom for the best part of twenty years, first with Cailan, now Alistair.   As she had confided in him, it was sometimes very difficult for her when married, one after the other, to two brothers who were so alike in some ways and yet so different in others. She had been genuinely fond of Cailan, which had made the revelation that he had been planning on putting her aside in favour of the Empress Celene at the time of his death all the harder to bear. Sometimes Oswyn felt he had been fortunate when his wife ran off with that Antivan gigolo. After all it had never been a love match in the first place and she had made no attempt to conceal her distaste for his crippled body.   Arranged marriages could be a bitch.

            May be after his present problems had been resolved he would give them both an official invitation to come and stay.   They probably both needed a break and the pair of them always seemed more relaxed in each other’s company when staying with him, probably because he never invited the Guerrin tribe to accompany them and always reminded Alistair not to do so himself.

             Jasce’s muffled voice could be heard in the hallway beyond the door.

             “If you would just form an orderly line here, thank you.”

             Jasce was his Aegis, returned from giving his mabari puppy its exercise.   Aegis was an archaic term that was seldom used these days but Jasce was an Ash Warrior and so the title meant a lot to him. Jasce, who had served his father, was a grizzled and aging warrior, the wrong side of sixty, also less nimble on his feet than he once had been.   Still, it suited Sighard to retain him as his Aegis. His own infirmity seemed less pronounced that way. Jasce, loyal and sympathetic to Sighard’s situation, was happy to play along and thus never mentioned that he was long past the age for an honourable retirement or suggested that Sighard should find himself a younger, more agile replacement.

             Jasce opened the door to the study and a mabari shot into the room ahead of him. It was not yet three months old and officially a puppy but still the size of a sheep. The dog bounded round the room and came to a halt by Oswyn’s chair, bowing down in front of him, its rear end sticking up and wagging furiously in time with its little stump of a tail.   Its fur was covered with mud, dried grass and straw mixed with something else that suggested they had passed the stables on their way back from their walk.   The smell would definitely suggest as much.

            “Sit Scruffy,” Jasce instructed the dog, as he closed the door behind him. “That’s most undignified.”

            The mabari complied after a fashion but the hind quarters still rotated back and forth.   Oswyn restrained himself from laughing at the sight.   He knew the puppy played for laughs.

            “Perhaps if you gave him a more dignified name, his behaviour might follow suit.”

            “What’s wrong with Scruffy? It suits him down to the ground. He is a long haired mabari so they tend to look naturally unkempt. The moment I saw him in the litter I thought, there is a dog who won’t mind getting his paws dirty in a fight.   You see that’s the error that most people make when they name a dog; they try to project their own expectations on them. I did the same with my first one. Called him Fang and I thought, there’s a good name to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. Except when he grew old and all his teeth fell out, so he could only gum ‘em to death.   Then calling Fang just made them piss themselves laughing.”

            “Yes, well right now,” said Oswyn, whose eyes were beginning to smart, “I think Smelly would be more appropriate.”

            “Hmm, yes, he does smell a bit rancid doesn’t he?   It’s more noticeable in a confined space. Okay, I’ll take him out back while you are interviewing the applicants and throw a bucket of water over him.”

            The mabari put its head on one side and whinned.

             “You only have yourself to blame,” Jasce admonished him. “I warned you not to roll in it.”

             “So we do have applicants?”

             “Yup, all the way from Denerim, arrived this morning.”

             “That’s great,” Oswyn felt the day improving already. “Who’s first?”

             “A Qunari.”

             He made a motion with his hands either side of his head to indicate horns and mouthed the word female at Oswyn.   He mouthed back, truly, and Jasce nodded, before moving to the door.

             “After I’ve cleaned up Scruffy I’ll be awaiting them down in the Dining Hall.”

             Jasce opened the door and waved the first applicant forward, then called to Scruffy and the dog followed him out. Oswyn moved the correspondence to one side of the desk and prepared to interview the first person. Just in time, his dwarf secretary, Burren, skidded into the room.

             “Sorry, I’m late,” he said. “I had a wardrobe malfunction I had to remedy”

             This was his way of admitting that he’d split his trousers again.   Burren was somewhat vain and tried to kid himself that he could actually fit into trousers a size smaller than he really was. Hence the wardrobe malfunction.

            “Just sit over there and take notes will you,” Oswyn said in a stage whisper, before returning his attention to the huge qunari who had followed him into the room.

             “Please take a seat,” he gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table, “and we can begin.

             “Burren, door.” Burren quickly jumped up, closed the door and sat down again.

            The qunari woman considered the seat that had been offered her and carefully lowered herself into it. When it successfully bore her weight, she appeared to relax, placing a long pole, bound at either end with leather and with a strap across the middle, across her lap.   Oswyn could see that she had twin weapons strapped to her back and he guessed from the size they were swords and not daggers.   Her armour was made of supple looking leather, well-fitting and maintained in good order. She surveyed him calmly from the black pits of her eyes, an attitude he found hard to match when confronted with that gaze.   He imagined facing her in battle must be terrifying.

            Oswyn suspected that comparing this lady to a horse might be a bad idea within her earshot but dealing with them had given him an instinctive awareness when someone was out of the ordinary. Oddly enough it wasn’t her appearance, although that was strange enough with her dark silver skin, long white hair and double pair of horns. He imagined Jasce would get to the bottom of those black eyes.   He couldn’t place his finger on it but he just knew, just as he had with his best horses, that something special was before him.   There would be plenty of time on the journey. Nevertheless, before he had even spoken with her, he made up his mind to put ‘special’ on her application. Jasce would then know what to do.

             “So tell me a bit about yourself.”

             She removed a parchment from her belt and handed it to him. It was a reference from a previous employer.

             “I am Issala.” Her voice was calm and deep but still distinctly feminine. “It is ten years since I left Par Vollen.   I am Tal-Vashoth. I have made my way in the world offering my services as a warrior.   I can fight both with my double headed glaive keeping my enemies at a distance from me or with twin swords at closer range.   I have some tracking skills and a knowledge of poisons, both how to make them and their antidotes.   That paper gives you an idea of how my service has been valued.”

             She paused and waited for him to prompt her further.

            “Can you ride a horse?”

             “I can ride well but do not have much training or experience in fighting from horseback but I would be willing to learn.”

             Oswyn nodded. “So why did you respond to my call, or was it just the money?”

             She gave a slight smile. “The money will of course be useful but I was attracted by your reputation as an honourable man. There are some employers who think that because you are a sword for hire, you will have no scruples as to what you are asked to do.   I am not one of those mercenaries.   It is why I have never joined a company.   I would rather turn away work than do something dishonourable.   I felt confident that you would not ask me to compromise myself in that way.”

             Oswyn gave an appreciative smile. He liked her directness and could tell that her sentiments were genuine.

            “I think, Issala, that you will do very well for my enterprise.   I imagine that you have not had much in the way of breakfast, so please refresh yourself in our dining hall.   Turn right as you leave the room and then follow the corridor to the end.   Jasce will meet you there.” He held out his hand. “Please excuse my not getting up but let’s shake on the deal.”

             Issala rose to her feet in dignified fashion and took the proffered hand, then hooked the strap to her glaive over her shoulder, turned and walked majestically to the door, opened it and continued on through the doorway without looking back.

             Oswyn gave a wry smile. She was definitely not your average mercenary. He glanced across at Burren who was still gazing in wide-eyed wonderment at the empty doorway.   Oswyn gave a cough to recall his attention to the matter in hand, before calling.

             “Next.”

*****

             Jasce was pleased to see the qunari woman had been considered suitable by Oswyn.   Anyone not meeting his approval would have been sent to the servants’ hall for a small breakfast before being sent on their way.   He greeted her with a smile.

             “Welcome.   There are bowls of warm water, soap and towels in the corner if you would like to freshen up before eating.   Then help yourself to whatever you prefer.   We’ve tried to cater for most tastes, including those who have an objection to eating meat.”

             “I am happy to eat most things,” Issala responded. “I think meat is necessary to maintain my body in its best condition.”

             “Well, I won’t argue with that,” said Jasce. “Eh Scruffy?”

             The mabari was chewing on an ox bone and wagged his tail in response.  Jasce took a plate and helped himself to bread, cold meat and cheese.   The table held other platters with mixed grains, dried fruit and honey, others with cold sausages and hard boiled eggs.   There were also pitchers of milk, apple juice and water but nothing alcoholic as Oswyn did not approve of indulging so early in the day.   Jasce took a cup of apple juice and sat himself down at the end of one of the long tables.

             He watched as Issala carefully washed her hands and face, drying them thoroughly with the towel provided. Here was someone who took care with their hygiene and he imagined that she was rarely sick as a result.   As she moved to help herself to bread, sausages, eggs and cold meat, before pouring herself a cup of apple juice, he felt sure that this was someone who was more than simply a hired sword.   There was just something about her that spoke to him of a quality individual with a profound dignity.   If he didn’t know that there was no such thing among the qunari, either inside or outside the Qun, he would have thought she was from a noble family that had fallen on hard times.

             “Come sit with me,” he called as she turned from the food table.

             Issala seemed happy to comply.   For a while they ate in silence before he said casually.

             “So have you been to many places?”

             “I have travelled extensively.   I have experienced the cultures in every land and honed my skills against a variety of adversaries.   What about you?”

             “Never been beyond Ferelden, though I’ve still experienced a fair few foes,” he said with a grin. He noticed another recruit enter the hall and called across, “There’s water to freshen up and then help yourself to food,” before returning his attention to Issala.

             “Have you ever fought darkspawn?”

             “On the western side of Orlais up near the border with the Anderfels, there was some problem with a minor incursion of hurlocks and genlocks.   I did not find them testing.”

             “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. What about shrieks?”

             “What are they?”

             “I gather they are the elven form of darkspawn.   They emit this awful sound when they fight you; hence the name and then prefer to fight from the shadows or at night so they can come on you unawares, like assassins.     They aren’t that tough to kill if you can land a blow but the trick is keeping track of them because they are so fast and agile.”

             “I’ll bear that in mind, thank you.”

            “My pleasure,” he took a sip of apple juice. “Then there are the ogres of course. They say their origins lie in your race, meaning no disrespect.   If qunari are difficult to kill, imagine what the darkspawn version is like.”

            “Tal-Vashoth,” she corrected him. “Not Qunari, Tal-Vashoth.”

            “Sorry, force of habit I’m afraid.   So were you born inside the Qun or had your parents already left?”

            “I was born on Par Vollen.   I left ten years ago.”

            “Okay,” he nodded. “Now I know.” He glanced up as another newcomer arrived in the hall.   “I’d better mingle with the others. Take all you need and don’t rush.   When you’ve finished, have a rest while the others catch up and then I’ll take everyone on to the next stage together.”

             Jasce continued to circulate among the recruits as they arrived in the hall. Eventually they numbered two dozen in addition to Issala.   That meant that Oswyn had already weeded out ten from the initial applicants. They had hoped that setting such a tight deadline would have discouraged the less able from making the journey but clearly that had not been the case entirely.     As breakfast progressed he noticed Burren appear in the doorway, clipboard in hand.   That would be the summary of the applicants’ skills and any additional comments that Oswyn had wished to make.

             Jasce took the clipboard and saw the word “special” on the topmost sheet relating to Issala. He smiled. Clearly great minds thought alike.  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

           The Forester recruits, who had responded to the notice on the Chantry Board in Dragon’s Peak, had been sent on to Brandyholme the previous day to await Bann Sighard’s arrival. Brandyholme was to be his base of operations where the recruits could report back to him their findings from their investigation. This had been before any of the Denerim troops arrived.   The Forester recruits had been smaller in number, only a dozen, but at least all of them were reasonably capable. By contrast the Denerim recruits were larger in number but lesser in ability overall, quantity rather than quality, with the exception of Issala.

            “Right,” Jasce addressed the recruits. “The rest of today is to be devoted to getting you ready for the journey, including ensuring you have all the equipment you need. First, though, you need good mounts. Whether you have your own horses or not, I doubt they are in the same league as Bann Sighard’s, so you can leave your own mount here and collect it when you return. Follow me.”                                    

            He led them down to the horse area. There was a large barn and outside it an even larger paddock area. In the latter were milling a herd of thirty Ferelden Forders.

             “If you would spread along the fence there so you all have a clear view. Now the first thing I’m going to do is show you how to catch your horse. If you can’t catch it then you really have no chance of going further since you need your horse to travel to Brandyholme.”

            He ducked under the gate rail and went to a large box in the corner of the paddock, removing a head collar from it.   Immediately thirty horses stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards him, ears pricked.

            “Right, so you get your head collar and you pick out a horse you want to collar. You don’t want a direct frontal approach, horses don’t like that, but equally you should not approach from the rear. Just walk up to them from the side at a slight angle. You can speak if you wish as it will make you seem less threatening.”

             He tossed the rope over the neck of one of the Forders and grabbed the end as it swung beneath the neck.

             “So you use the rope like this to keep the horse from wandering off; then you place your hands on either side of the noseband and slip it over the horse’s muzzle.” He put his hand under the head and flicked the headband over the top of the head just behind the ears.” Then you bring the headpiece over and buckle it at the side.   Now you can lead your horse over to the rail, tie it off and ask the groom to bring you a saddle. Once that is done, you can mount up and put your horse through its paces.   Any questions?”

             The company remained mute in response.

             “Very well, off you go then.” He beckoned to Issala. “Not you.   I’ve got something different planned.”

              Jasce walked with Issala past the large paddock towards the horse barns.

              “Now there’s something you should know, we’re a team, Sighard and me. He tends to joke that together we make a passable man.   In case you start wondering when you see him stoop and shuffle, well that was done torturing him for information he just didn’t have but his captors kept on thinking he did until his body was broken and it never truly recovered. Don’t pity him mind, he hates that. That’s the beauty of the horses. On these beauties he is no longer a cripple. He’s always loved his horses but now they have a special place in his heart. They give him a freedom of movement that he no longer has on his own legs.”

               He glanced at Issala and could see she was listening intently.

               “Now I mentioned about a team because when he indicates he thinks someone is special then I sit up and take notice. He has a gift for these things. You could run a hundred horses past him and he would still be able to say ‘There, that’s the one, that’s the one I want.’ I can do the same with mabari. Each has his specialty so to speak.”

               Another glance showed him that Issala was nodding her understanding.

               “Now the majority of the mercenaries are going to have one of these, a Ferelden Forder.”

               He pointed to the herd of horses milling around, bay in colour and tall of leg. The other recruits had already started trying to capture one each.   He beckoned to one of the men watching.

               “I think we are going to need more assistance if these fools aren’t going to break their necks. I mean it would be their own fault but I do have principles about cruelty to animals. Why do people always try to kid us they know something they don’t?”

               He gave a wicked grin and a glance to Issala.

               “If they think that, they have never met one the Bann’s horses. Best sorter of recruits we have. The horses know who was bullshitting us about knowing how to handle them.   Nothing wrong with the Forders and as with all of his horses these are some of the best of the breed. These though are the horses for the ordinary troops so to speak. For the generals of whatever you like to call them, he reserves the ones in the barn." 

               He led her on into the barn.

               “Now those may be smart but these horses are really smart. You won’t fool one of these. He treats them like kings and queens and they expect it. They know how good they are. All these are mares.”

               All the horses had their heads out looking their way, clearly interested in seeing who approached.  

              “Now what he likes to do is let you choose a horse and name it.   It’s no matter if it had one already, it will adjust to the new name soon enough.   So I’m going to run down the line of horses, telling you about each, and then I want you to choose one and say why you did.”

               He glanced at Issala and saw she was fully engaged.

               “The reason you get to name the horse is so you can feel it is truly yours and that may make it easier to bond with it. Horses can bond just the same as mabari but not everyone has the gift for it. I’m thinking that if Sighard has put special on your application, he thinks you are one that can.”

               Jasce moved up to the first and stroked her neck. She was a beautiful golden colour and her coat shimmered like newly minted coin. Her mane and tail were purest white.

              “I’m afraid this is one you can’t choose. Honey, his pride and joy, he brought her all the way from Antiva and she’s a Taslin Strider. If that name means nothing to you, don’t worry, most people haven’t heard of them, they are very rare and getting rarer, which is odd because these horses have a special way of going. Most horses will walk, trot and gallop if needs be. These ones only have one single way of going but it is so smooth you barely move in the saddle and can almost go as fast as a gallop when at top speed. That’s the bit that puzzles me about the rarity. These horses can cover a hundred miles in one day and hardly feel it, nor does their rider. Why did those fools in Antiva let this breed die out? That’s what Sighard thinks as well and Honey here will be his foundation mare when he stops using her for riding. It is his dream to recover an almost lost breed.”

              He moved on to a horse with black and white patches across its body. She was smaller than all the other horses and had a very alert stance but when Jasce stroked her the horse started nuzzling him.

             “Now this one you could say is a bit like my Scruffy. In her case she is full grown but she’s not yet fully trained.  So she’s a work in progress. She’s a Dalish All-bred.   Hardy and sure footed, if you can bond with this one you’ll have a friend for life but it may be difficult to do so.”

             He moved on to the next one, which had mottled brown fore quarters and belly with a white spotted blanket across its back. The eye was also different showing a white sclera.

             “Now this you could say is a horse with an attitude. By this I mean she’ll push you to see if you’ll back down and then frankly you’ve had it. She knows she is in control now. A Green Dales feral.”

             The next horse was jet black all over and slightly taller than the previous one.

             “This is an Amaranthine Charger.   This is more your classic war horse type, strong, bold and courageous.”

             The next was a similar colour to Honey without the metallic sheen and overlaid with a spotted blanket. It was slightly shorter than the previous horse.

             “A Free Marches Ranger.   This has only recently been recognised as a breed. That means it hasn’t been overbred and will have hybrid vigour.”

             Lastly they came to a horse coloured red chestnut with large white patches.

             “This one is an Anderfel Courser. They were originally bred for use by the Grey Wardens after they lost the griffons but other people up there use them as well.   As you can imagine for a horse bred in that part of the world you need to be tough to survive. She might not be as fast or lively as some of the others but makes up for it in resilience to just about anything in terms of weather or terrain that you can throw at her.”

              He turned and looked back down the barn.

              “Now you won’t be expected to fight from horseback. We’re only taking the horses as far as Brandyholme so we can get there in short order.   After that, the forest is rather dense so horses are likely to be more of a hindrance than a help. Still it’s important you have a horse that suits you for the initial journey. So why don’t I just wait here while you go see if there is a horse you want to bond with. Once you have, come back and tell me, plus the reason why you chose her. Before you go though, I hope you don’t mind me asking, I’ve noticed your eyes seem to have a black sclera in the same way the Green Dales feral, the Freemarches Ranger and the Anderfels Courser have white. Now that is unusual in horses so I wondered if it was the same with Tal-Vashoth, the black sclera I mean. Does it give you any special abilities or is it just a variant?”

               “It is true that not all of our race have them. I’m not entirely sure of the reason but some have speculated it indicates a greater concentration of ideal breeding. I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t think it gives me any sight advantages.”

               “Thank you.   It sounds as though it is rather like the case with the horses. Right then, go ahead and choose your horse.”

               Issala walked slowly down the aisle and then back up again, finally stopping before the Anderfels Courser.

               “This one,” she said emphatically. “If it is good enough for the Grey Wardens then it is good enough for me.  She is the practical choice if you want a horse that will last the journey, whatever the terrain or weather, and still be fresh at the end of it, particularly since you say the Taslin Strider is not available.  I will call her Anaan.   It means ‘Victory’.”

               “Very well,” smiled Jasce. “Let’s hope your name is a good omen for the success of our mission.”

**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

           Oswyn had been frustrated at the small number of good applicants that had presented themselves. It was particularly disappointing that none of those recruited had knowledge specific to the Dalish, although hardly surprising in the case of the latter considering how illusive and occasionally hostile the elves could be.

            It was also irksome that he was unable to fulfil his traditional duty to the freeholders himself.   Somehow in the efforts at rebuilding Ferelden after the Blight many of his fellow nobles had become less enthusiastic about their responsibilities than he had been.   Their complaisant attitude hadn’t been helped by the presence of the Inquisition, whose influence had been so pervasive and widespread that additional efforts weren’t needed.   He didn’t deny the good that the Inquisition had done but it did seem to have encouraged a certain degree of indolence among his peers. The Ferelden commoners were a resilient lot and particularly in the south had always had a degree of self-reliance. That was why the appeal to him was all the more disturbing.

            Oswyn rose from his desk in the study and limped in the direction of his sitting room, flinching as he always did at the pain in his legs but he was too proud to resort to a walking stick or other form of support.   That had been the case ever since his torture in the dungeons of the Arl of Denerim by Rendon Howe, back when he enjoyed the full strength of youth.   He was hardly what you would consider elderly even now, just shy of his fortieth birthday, but he would never know that athleticism again. Howe had seen to that.   Not even the best healers that money could buy had been able to reverse the damage done to him during his time there.   He reflected how ironic it was that he was willing but unable to take to the field as ancient custom demanded whereas many other Banns, younger and more able bodied than himself, no longer seemed to feel bound by their duty as nobles to come to the aid of those from whom they received patronage.  

            ' _What is the world coming to_ , reflected Sighard, _when the protection of the freeholders is left_ _to a bent old cripple like me_?'

             Jasce joined him in the sitting room without being asked, Scruffy still dogging his heals and now smelling as sweet as a mabari can smell.

             “So, Jasce, how’s his training going?”

             “Coming along fine, although it’s early days yet,” Jasce responded as Scruffy started to gnaw and pull on a knotted rope he had brought along for that purpose. “He’s just so full of energy though, I find it hard to keep up.”

             “It’ll be good for you,” laughed Oswyn.   “What do you think of the new recruits?”

             Jasce tossed the rope into the corner of the room and Scruffy followed, giving Jasce the opportunity to take the seat opposite Oswyn.

             “Seem a reasonable bunch to me. The horses broke the heads of a couple but other than that, they’ll do. Then again beggars can’t be choosers; we’ve hardly been inundated with applicants.”

             “I suppose roughing it in the forest doesn’t appeal to most mercenaries.”

             “Yes, I suppose that must be the case.” Oswyn noticed he was rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

             “What’s bothering you?”

             “Is it just possible that we may be restricting our search by using the Chanter’s Board?”

             “How so?”

             “Well, there are some citizens who never pass that way.”

             “Such citizens are not the sort of person I want to employ.   I have no wish to finance cut throats and brigands.   They will have no care for the welfare of the freeholders.”

             He noticed that Jasce still looked unconvinced at his reply and was clearly trying to work himself up to say something.

             “Okay, Jasce, out with it.”

             “Without putting too fine a point on it; am I a cut throat brigand?”

             Oswyn sighed. “No, Jasce, you aren’t. So what is it you wanted to say?”

             “A farmer approached me when I was playing with Scruffy on the way back from the horses. He says that if I’m looking for someone with expert knowledge of the Dalish I could do worse than ask the Pied Piper.”

             “Who is that?”

             “The farmer says he is an elf who entertains down at the Eagle’s Nest tavern of an evening.   He suggested we take a trip down there tonight and ask him.”

             “Sounds more like a bard.   How can he be sure he has expert knowledge?”

             “I asked the same thing.   The farmer tapped the side of his nose and said how the Piper knows things, like special tonics and potions made from herbs you find in the forest and also that he carries an oaken staff.   He’s seen him use it too, against cut throats and brigands.   He’s almost sure he was with one of the Dalish clans when they came to trade with him last year.”

             “A Dalish mage you say?   Do you believe him?”

             “Enough that I gave him a sovereign for the information,” Jasce gave a wry smile.   “If I’ve wasted my money I’d at least like to know it from checking out this lead personally.”

             “Would he assist us though? What if it turns out to be the Dalish who are responsible?”

             “He’s here rather than in the forest.   That suggests an outcast to me.   It’s worth a try in any case.”

             “Very well, we’ll take a trip down to the Eagle’s Nest this evening.”

             “You don’t have to come, my lord.   It’s a fair old stroll and you can trust me to make a sound judgement on him.   Then I can invite him up here to meet you.”

             “No, Jasce, that may frighten him off.   If you say this lead is sound then the least I can do is hobble down there with you. Then we’ll see what this Pied Piper has to say for himself.”

              Jasce spend the afternoon training and equipping the recruits. Then they set out after an early supper. As they approached the inn they could hear a steady drumming sound, one, two, one, two in a steady beat.   They entered the tavern behind a crown of people, all either tapping their feet, clapping their hands or banging on the table in front of them in time to the beat, while on the bar stood a tall, platinum blond elf, dressed in tunic and leggings of alternate colours of black and white, who was encouraging the beat by clapping his hands above his head.   When he seemed satisfied that all were sufficiently in unison he launched into his song. His voice was deep and melodic with the hint of a Dalish accent.

  _"It’s a roving life for me, hey, hey,_

_A roving life for me,_

_A maid in every town, a waiting just for me,_ (He winks and the audience cheers)

 _The freedom of the road and the best of company_ (He salutes the audience)

 _You can keep your staid and settled ways; it’s a roving life for me_."

              (Drum, drum, drum, drum)

              "S _ee yon aging farmer spending every day,_

_Working his fingers to the bone, just to pay his way,_

_Well I suppose that is alright if you like the sort of thing_

_But I prefer the open road and that is why I sing:"_

__(Tap, tap, tap, tap)_ _

              _It’s a roving life for me, hey, hey,_

_A roving life for me,_

_A maid in every town, a waiting just for me,_

_The freedom of the road and the best of company_

_You can keep your staid and settled ways, it’s a roving life for me_."

             (Drum, drum, drum, drum)

__"See that pretty lady, lovely as can be_ (He starts gyrating his hips in an impression)_

_Won’t you stop your wandering she’s says and settle down with me_

             _Well by all means settle overnight that is well and fine_ (lewd grin and roll of the eyes)

 _But I tell you if you marry her you’ll be old before your time.”_ (More cheers)

             As he launched into the chorus he started to dance along the bar sideway crossing his legs behind him and then kicking out again alternately in time with the beat.

             _"It’s a roving life for me, hey, hey,_

_A roving life for me,_

_A maid in every town, a waiting just for me,_

_The freedom of the road and the best of company_

_You can keep your staid and settled ways_

_It’s a roving life for meeeeee_ "(the musical notes climb successively higher)

            The elf reached the end of the bar and somersaulted off it, landing firmly on two feet and snatched up a tankard, raising it to the audience.

            “Sulahn'nehn.”

             The audience erupted into a cacophony of clapping, cheers and approving whistles. The elf downed the contents of the tankard and then bowed to the company.

             “Ma Serannas, my friends, and goodnight.”

             He turned and relaxed against the bar leaning his chin on his hands and resting his elbows on the surface.   It was clear he was breathing heavily from his exertions and his costume was drenched in sweat but that was hardly surprising considering the heat in the room in addition to the physicality of his performance.

             The audience started to disperse, some to tables arranged around the room, others to the door. The latter started in surprise when they realised that one of the newcomers was their Bann. The bar keeper also noticed and quickly hurried over to see whether there was anything he could do for him.

             “A quiet table somewhere in a corner please and would you ask the singer if he’d like to drink with us.”

             “Certainly, my lord, follow me.”

             He led them to the requested table and then went and spoke to the Piper, making a gesture in their direction.   The Piper nodded in response and gave a smile, removed a staff from behind the bar, before walking over to their table and hooking a chair from under it with his foot, throwing himself casually into it and leaning the staff against the wall.  His long silvery blond hair was dank with sweat, whilst his blue eyes studied them intently behind an appearance of good humour.

            “So to what do I owe this pleasure?” he grinned at them. “Want to make an additional financial contribution in gratitude for your entertainment?   A lot of my fans do even though I insist it isn’t necessary.”

             “Fans?” Oswyn queried and Jasce looked bemused.

             A barmaid brought a bowl of broth and some bread, plus a platter of fruit, placing them before the piper.  

             “Thank you, Lauren,” He gave a broad smile in her direction and she responded with a flush of the cheeks before hurrying away. Then he returned his attention to the companions. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

             Before either of them could respond, he gestured to the food and continued.

             “Do please help yourselves.   I sing for my supper but I don’t mind sharing.   I was joking about the financial recompense.”

             “So this is why you were singing?” suggested Oswyn.

             “I sing for pleasure but a guy has to eat.   Sometimes I’m offered bed and _bawd_ as well but I prefer to stick to just food.”

             “Don’t you mean bed and board?” Oswyn corrected him with careful pronunciation of the second word.

             “No, I know what I meant,” the Piper winked.   He changed his accent to that of the Denerim slums. “I’m not some ignorant yokel, you know, that I don’t know how to speak proper.”

             He tore into the bread with his teeth and Oswyn took the opportunity to steer the conversation back onto their own topic.

             “We’re looking for a Dalish mage.”

            “Well, good luck with that,” the Piper responded through his food, his accent reverting to a Dalish lilt.

             “Our contact said you could help us,” explained Jasce.

             “Did they now and why would they say that?”

             “So are you saying you’re not one?”

             “Why would you think I was?” His voice was casually relaxed but it was clear he was watching them carefully.

             “You’re an elf,” suggested Oswyn.

             “Got no fancy markings on my face though, try again.”

             “You could still be a mage,” said Jasce. “That staff for one thing.”

             “Oh you mean Woody, my walking stick.”

             “You call your staff Woody?” Oswyn said incredulously.

             “Walking stick,” the Piper corrected him. “An excellent support for long journeys on foot; there is nothing like a good walking stick my grand pappy used to say.”

             “So you’re still insisting you’re not a mage?”

             “I don’t recall admitting anything one way or the other.” He continued to speak in a rapid stream that was difficult to interrupt. “The thing is, you see, even though Divine Victoria may have abolished the Circles, it’s a hell of a long way from here to Val Royeaux and whilst officially the Templars have been disbanded too, I’ve heard that not all of them have given up on the idea up here,” he tapped his head. “You can take the Templar out of the Chantry but you can’t take the Chantry out of the Templar, so to speak, even if they no longer have the uniform, which is worse in a way because they are harder to spot. So even if you gentlemen aren’t actually a remnant of the Order, you might want the mage to do something that would bring them to the attention of those that are.”

             He gave a brief pause for breath before continuing more slowly.

             “So why don’t we just cut to the chase here and you tell me _why_ you are looking for a Dalish mage.”

             “I need one for a team I’m putting together.” Oswyn explained.                                  

             “Yes, I sort of guessed that part.   What does it involve exactly?”

             “It’s a mission of mercy. Freeholders in the forest have been going missing. Outlying homesteads are turning up empty of their inhabitants and workers in the forest not returning at the end of the day.  People are now afraid to venture out.   The mayor of one of the villages has requested me to do something about it, find out who is responsible and recover the freeholders if still alive.   I can’t undertake the mission myself as I’d just be a liability, owing to my infirmity, so I’m looking to finance people who’ll go in my place.   I’m not sure what sort of dangers you’ll encounter but it’s only fair to warn you that the mayor suggested it could be Dalish.”

             “You want me to turn against my own people?”

             “So you _are_ Dalish.”   

             “Sort of, the clan was somewhat divided on that point.”

             “Then you won’t help?”

            “That depends. What makes you think it is Dalish?”

             Jasce removed an arrow from a pack he had brought with him and handed it to the Piper, who studied it carefully, then shook his head.

             “Wrong sort of fletching; that’s not Dalish workmanship, just a poor imitation of a Dalish arrow.   That means someone is trying to frame the Dalish.   Okay, I’m in.”

             “Hold on a minute,” said Jasce, “we need to know about you first.”

             “What’s there to know?” He dropped his voice so it was less easily overheard. “You’re right, I’m a mage and Woody is my staff. I’m also an expert on the area having spent my entire life in the forest until recently. You need someone who knows the Dalish and I’m happy to oblige you.   To be honest you’ll be hard pressed to find an alternative as good as me and willing to undertake the task. As you’ve surmised, there’s no one knows the forest like the Dalish do but they aren’t easy to find and probably not inclined to help anyway, particularly if you go blundering in there accusing them of all manner of things. They likely _will_ shoot on sight. So far as I’m concerned, though, it’s ideal. I get to clear my people’s name and earn them some goodwill whilst saving the day, earning the undying gratitude of the rescued, not to mention your good self, and a heroic song or two.”

             “And gold,” Oswyn reminded him. “I’m promising fair payment to the recruits.”

             “Ah, so we’re not going to be altruistic heroes then?” His voice returned to its normal pitch. “Very well, I am prepared to accept whatever is on offer.   Where exactly did you advertise this mission?   I’m surprised I hadn’t heard about it already.”

             “It was on the Chanter’s Board.”

             “Oh that would account for it then.   I keep away from the vicinity of the Chantry for the sake of my health.”

             “Yes, I suppose there is a greater chance of running into former Templars down there.”

             “No, I’m allergic to bullshit.”   He gave them a broad grin but noticed that Sighard gave a twitch and a frown in response. The other man though covered his mouth as though clearly trying to disguise the fact that he found it amusing. “I’m Ellas by the way.   So when do we start?”

             Oswyn shook his head.   “I think not.”

             Ellas took on a more serious demeanour.

             “It was the crack about the Chantry, wasn’t it?” He sounded contrite. “Look I admire Andraste same as the next man and I can see your religion genuinely means something to you, instead of just playing lip service to it, because you are doing something about those freeholders.   So I apologise for any offence I may have caused but I really would like to be a part of your enterprise and not just for the money.” He gave a more restrained smile and extended his hand. “Shake on the deal?”

             Oswyn considered for a moment and then relented, extending his hand in return. The two men clasped hands and released them.

             “So when do we start?” said Ellas.

             “Tomorrow morning, after an early breakfast, but you’ll need to come earlier to select a horse.”

             “Dawn,” clarified Jasce.

             “Good, well, I’ll see you then.”

             He wiped around the broth bowl with the bread, rose from the table, removed a cloth from a pouch on his belt, deftly shovelled the fruit into it and knotted the ends, holding the bundle by the knot in his left hand. Then he grabbed his staff in his right hand and started to walk away across the room, paused and turned back towards them.

            "By the way my name means “our hope” in Elvish.   So if you need another reason to employ me, there you have it. I’ll bring you luck.   Dareth shiral.”

             He gave an elaborate bow in their direction, turned and sauntered out the door, whistling a tune.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

           Jasce knew they had done their best in the short time allowed. There had been some debate between Oswyn and Jasce over whether they would get more recruits by waiting but the fact was you were always dependent on who was in town and available at a particular time and from what they had heard the problem had been building over several weeks. However, if they had any doubts about setting the narrow window for applicants, Ellas’ revelation about the arrow quashed them.   Jasce was confident that the lad was telling the truth about the arrow and so that was really disturbing. Someone was deliberately trying to set the two communities against one another. It was therefore imperative they get underway as swiftly as possible.

           He was glad to see that Ellas was as good as his word and arrived just after the dawn lit the horizon, no longer in his Pied Piper outfit but simple robes of green and grey. Jasce took him immediately to the stables and went through his preamble on the horses as he had with Issala. Ellas didn’t even bother with a second look at the horses but immediately selected the Dalish All Bred.

           “I’ll call her Magpie.”

           “You wouldn’t be choosing her just because of the colour would you?”

           “Would that be so bad? Ellas gave a wide grin. “Actually I thought she would be better since she is still in the process of being trained, so it may be easier for her to adjust to my way of doing things than one that has been fully moulded by someone else.   It should make it easier for her to bond with me as well.”

           “Well done,” Oswyn’s voice intruded.

           He had entered the barn at the far end, just behind where they were standing. All the horses immediately looked in his direction and started to wicker.

           “You have a sound grasp of these things,” Oswyn continued. “I take it you have had previous experience of horses.”

           “Not really but my mother was Halla keeper for the clan and that was the way we did things with them.”

           “Ah, yes, transferrable skills,” nodded Oswyn. “They are beautiful and sensitive creatures from what I have heard, just like my horses.   If you are familiar with handling them then I dare say you will have no trouble with mine, even a skittish youngster like Magpie.”

           “Well, if everyone is happy,” said Jasce, “let’s be having a bite to eat.”

           After breakfast, Jasce and Burren loaded a pack pony with what Burren considered essential for the journey, not that Burren wanted to go on the journey anyway. It meant camping out overnight, which was bad enough in itself because that tended to be a place where you were likely to get dirty and pick things up, like ticks and fleas.   Jasce had tried to explain how ticks would only attach if you deliberately went into the long grass with your bare skin exposed (which probably accounted for how Burren had got one inexplicably attached to his arse last summer) and fleas had to be living on another animal before jumping onto you. Actually this was not strictly true since they could also live in bedding and on the soft furnishing but Jasce tended to skirt round that one since it would then lead back to Scruffy.   The other sore point with Burren was that he would also be denied his bath for nearly two days.   This meant that he might start to smell.   In fact it was almost guaranteed given the time of year and the nature of the exercise. Burren was not a happy dwarf.

           “I still don’t see why he can’t use you or get someone from the village to help.”

           “We’ve been through this before; though I know my letters, I have never been particularly good at writing things fast. I just don’t have the need for it and have had very little practice.   As for someone in the village, that could take ages to find one and then they might only have my level of skills.   So you could have the situation that Orlais is going to invade again and the country is lost because we couldn’t get a message to King Alistair in time.”

           “We’re not going anywhere near Orlais.”

           “Don’t be pedantic, I know my geography, I was using it as an example. You are employed as a secretary to Oswyn because he can’t write himself after what that bastard Howe did to him. This for the most part allows you to live in a very well appointed and comfortable Keep, and have your baths every day, but occasionally, and you have to admit this is actually the first time it has happened, you may be required to go into the field, which you have to admit is a small price to pay for what is for you a pretty cushy number.”

           “I suppose I take your point.”

The pack horse had been loaded by with the essential items, ravens and Burren’s writing kit, and non-essential, everything else that Burren considered vital for the trip, which Jasce suspected probably included his entire wardrobe just in case he should want to impress in Brandyholme. Still Jasce had been prepared to compromise on this in the hope that Burren would reciprocate when it came to Scruffy. He hadn’t yet revealed he was expecting Burren to keep an eye on him as they would be travelling together. There seemed a good chance Burren would object.

           “And another thing, why have you put all the interesting people at the back of the line and me up the front?”

           “By interesting you mean men?”

           “What else would I mean?” He watched as Issala rode past towards the front of the line. “See what I mean a woman.”

           “I should be careful how you say that in front of her, Burren.   She doesn’t know you as well as I do and might think you are disparaging her personally rather than the fact she has got curves in all the wrong places.   Issala is a lady that you wouldn’t want to get the wrong side of.”

           “Wow, are all their women that big?”

           “Hard to say since Issala is the first one I’ve met and they mostly tend to hang out up north, but on the balance of the evidence I’d say it is probably true.   After all, look at how big their men are?”

           Burren sighed dreamily. “Yes, they are aren’t they?   Mind you, whilst I don’t deny that only coming up to waist height can be an advantage in certain situations if you catch my drift.”

           “Don’t worry, I do.”

           “It’s just that in others their size could be, shall we say, problematic.”

           “Really don’t want to go there Burren.”

           “Do you suppose there are any qunari dwarves or would the correct terminology be dwarf qunari.”

           “I’ll leave that one up to you or you could ask Issala when you know her better but I’ve never seen one yet or heard about them, not even by rumour.”

           “Damn, that’s another fantasy gone then.   So just why have you divided the party up in this way?”

           “It’s so I get the chance to evaluate her as we go along.”

           “And you don’t want to evaluate the ones at the back?”

           “No. See the thing is we are always on the lookout for new people to work with us but really promising people are hard to find these days and might not even think of applying here without a notice asking them to.   The ones at the back are those we wouldn’t even consider in the long term. The ones at the front are those that we feel have got potential.”

           “If it was me I’d have made sure there was at least one man in the group.”

           “That’s because unlike you I make my assessment on the basis of actual ability instead of their capacity for me to shag them.”

           Then Ellas rode past on Magpie and Jasce gave a sly glance at Burren to see if he’d noticed. The open mouthed astonishment suggested that he had.

           “Is he going to be in the select group?”

           “Yes, Burren.”

           “So you’re evaluating him?”

           “Yes Burren, and I am beginning to think you might not have such objections to this journey after all.”

           “Jasce, you are such a good friend to me, I take everything back. This trip is going to be wonderful.”

           Got him, thought Jasce, he can’t object to Scruffy now.

           “So do you know if he likes men?”

           “You know, when drawing up our list of things to ask at interview, which includes such things as ‘Do you have experience of the Dalish’, ‘what are your skills’ and ‘can you ride’, ‘what is your preference in bed’ didn’t figure too highly on our list of priorities.”

           “It would for me.”

           “Yes, and that is why you’re the secretary and I’m in charge of recruiting the troops.”

           “So you don’t know then?”

           “Not explicitly but I think it is only fair to warn you that down at the tavern he sang a lot about girls.”

           “Oh that doesn’t mean anything.   Singing is like acting and that’s just pretend. Now acting I could say I had a harem of fifty women but it wouldn’t be true in real life would it?”

           “I see what you mean.”

           “So will you put a good word in for me?”

           “You know what, Burren? I will but only if you keep an eye on Scruffy for me on the journey.”

           “Oh absolutely, I’d be delighted to.”

 _Like stealing candy from a baby_ , thought Jasce.

            At that moment, Oswyn rode up on Honey, followed by Gerry, the Raven Keeper, riding the Freemarches Ranger and leading the Green Dales Feral and a second pack pony with a basket contraption strapped to its back.

            “Ah here is your mount, Burren,” said Jasce. “That old basket seat was used by Oswyn when he was just a nipper but I thought it might be adapted to you.”

            “Oh, I’m going to sit up there am I?”

            “That’s right.   Gerry is going to lead you along with the other pony, so all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

            “Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad,” agreed Burren. “Why is there another basket facing mine though?”

            “That’s for Scruffy,” said Jasce cheerily, before giving a whistle that brought the puppy running.

            “Hmm, sit back and enjoy the scenery, eh, with Scruffy slobbering in my face.”

            “No, he won’t he’ll be too interested in the scenery himself. All you need to do is to make sure he stays sat on the horse.”

            “Is that all?” Burren raised an eyebrow at him. “Very well, help me up.”

            Jasce hoisted him aboard.

            “You can use the leather strap if it gives you the feeling of greater security.”

            While Burren was fastening the buckle on the strap, Jasce lifted Scruffy aboard.

            “Now you stay there like a good boy,” Jasce instructed him. “And do as Burren tells you to, understand?”

            Scruffy gave an answering bark and wagged his tail.   Jasce gave him a fuss and then turned to the Green Dales feral, vaulting up from the ground without needing the stirrup.   When Oswyn could see that all were assembled correctly, he called for silence.

            “Okay, we will be riding as swiftly as we can.   Our first stop will be around midday, to give the horses a chance for some grass and allow us a bit of lunch.   Then we will keep going until sundown.     That should have brought us around half the distance to Brandyholme.   All things being equal, we should arrive there by evening tomorrow.   I doubt we will encounter much trouble on the way there but if we do, then I suggest dismounting unless you know how to fight from horseback.   Any questions?” There was no response. “Let’s be going then.”

            He wheeled the mare around on the spot and set off at a steady amble, which was similar in speed to the other horses’ trot.   Issala and Ellas fell in immediately behind him, then Jasce, with Gerry, leading the pack horses, and finally the other recruits in double file.

            Once they were underway and had established an easy rhythm, Ellas felt emboldened to talk with Issala.

            “Hello, I’m Ellas.”

            She gave him an appraising stare before replying. “Issala.”

            “Erm, if you don’t mind me asking, are you a Qunari?”

            “Tal-Vashoth.”

            “Oh, there’s a difference is there?”

            “Yes.”

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean any offence but I’ve never met anyone of your race before.”

            Issala appeared to consider the matter before saying. “I apologise, I thought you were just being ignorant in your assumption.”

            “Well, to be honest I am ignorant, that’s why I’d appreciate learning from you.”

            Issala gave a ghost of a smile. “Very well, I will admit that the definitions of our race are confusing.   Originally we came from a race known as the Kossith but that was long in the past and we have been practising selective breeding for so long that it is hard to know whether we resemble them at all.   However, I am given to understand that darkspawn ogres stem from the Kossith, so if you have seen one of them, that should give you some idea.”

            “Thankfully, I haven’t had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of any darkspawn.   So what is the difference between a Qunari and a Tal-Vashoth?”

            “A Qunari is anyone who follows the Qun.   It is not a racial definition and any race can be a Qunari but most people think of horned ones like me as Qunari.   Those living outside the Qun are really Tal-Vashoth, a term meaning True Grey Ones, referring to the colour of our skin, although the terms can still apply to any race that has rejected the Qun having once been part of it.   Still, if you want to define me, call me Tal-Vashoth.”

            “Okay.” He studied her for a moment. “You have two sets of horns.”

            “Yes, that is usual but there are some with only one set, some with three and occasionally with four, each is just a variant.”

            “When I was a child, my father fought with the Dalish in the Hero of Ferelden’s forces. After the battle was over, I remember seeing her march past with her companions and there was a grey giant among them.   I was told he was Qunari but I suppose that was just a mistake. He had no horns.”

            “No, that was not a mistake.   He was a Qunari and he is now the Arishok.”

            “I’m guessing that’s someone important.”

            Issala laughed. “Yes, he is the supreme commander of the forces of the Qun. He is responsible for the protection and safety of its people and spreading its wisdom to other nations.   He is also the main person who deals with foreigners and so effectively the head of state.”

            “So a king then?”

            “No, there is no such concept among the Qun. The term king implies some sort of hereditary role but that is not how leaders are selected among the Qun. When one Arishok dies the Tamassrans evaluate the candidates for replacing him from all ranks of the military and navy using a variety of tests.   Finally they whittle them down to just two and these are sent before the other two supreme commanders of the Qun, the Ariqun, head of the priesthood and the Arigena, head of the ordinary workers. They then have the final say as to who should get the role.”

            “That actually sounds like a good way of doing things.”

            “You sound surprised?”

            “Well, like I say, I don’t know much about the Qun but what I have heard has never been favourable.   I suppose it is like any organisation, there are good bits and bad bits.   When you are the opposition you tend to focus on the negatives rather than the positives.”

            Issala chucked. “Very true.”

             “So the man who became the supreme commander of the Qun actually fought with us against the Blight.   If only the Hero had known how lucky they were. Still I seem to recall Da’ saying that when the Hero split their forces, she put the Qunari in charge of the second group, so maybe she did recognise the qualities of leadership in him.”

            “Quite possibly.”

            “What about his lack of horns?   That must have been a drawback.”

            “On the contrary, among the Qunari the hornless ones are viewed as special and also more intimidating because of their lack.”

            “Now that is interesting.  It is sort of the opposite from what would be the case among humans if one of them grew horns when the majority do not have them.”

            “I suppose that’s true.”

            “So what is the Qun exactly, a philosophy, a religion, a political ideal?”

            “A bit of all three, really.   There is no concept of a deity though unlike your Chantry.”

            “Not my Chantry.”

            “Ah, so you are one of these Dalish that worship many elven gods.”

            “Not really my scene either.   It’s why I don’t have any vallaslin because the only god I thought worth honouring apparently doesn’t have them.”

            “Which god would that be?”

            “Fen’Harel.   The Dalish think of him as a trickster and dangerous because they believe he shut their gods away.   I didn’t endear myself to my Keeper because I rather admired him for it.   Care to hear about it?”

            “Okay.”

            “Vallaslin are a sort of rite of passage into adult hood. You decide which god you would like to model yourself on and your take their respective vallaslin. You will also generally pray to that god on a regular basis.   Okay, have you got that?”

            Issala nodded.

            “Right so the Keeper asks me which vallaslin I want. There are eight gods to choose from, Elgar’nan, Mythal, Sylaise, June, Ghilan’nain, Dirthamen, Falon’Din and Andruil, collectively known as the Creators, that we believe cannot answer our prayers because they were shut away by Fen’Harel.  What about Fen’Harel? He does not have vallaslin. Why not? Keeper Paven looks a bit flummoxed like no one has ever asked him this question before. So am I really the only logical elf in the entirety of Thedas?   Because you will see when he requests again that I should choose my god, I reply as follows:

            “I choose Fen’Harel for three reasons. First, he is dead clever. Even if you only factor in the Creators that is a group of eight gods he tricked but you tell me he tricked the Forgotten Ones as well by convincing both sides he was their friend. That takes some doing. ‘Oh, Ellas,’ says the Keeper, ‘you don’t understand he was giggling with glee at what he had done.’ ‘So would I’, I respond. ‘I would be pissing myself laughing that I managed to lock away all those gods and I didn’t have to use any flashy spells or anything but just my brains’.   Keeper Paven frowned but let me continue.

            “Second, he is the only god who can actually answer prayers. Now in view of the acknowledged cleverness I figure he might be the right sort of god to have on your side. May be if we had been praying to Fen’Harel instead of the rest of them we wouldn’t have lost the Dales. I reckon he could have figured out something clever to fox those Orlesians.   Have you ever considered how stupid it is Keeper Paven that we actually make offerings to Fen’Harel _not_ to do anything for us? ‘Please Fen’Harel , please we’d rather you just ignored us.’ Meanwhile we keep praying and praying to gods we _know_ can’t answer because we teach he locked them away. Keeper Paven is about to answer me but I’m on a roll now and I want him to know exactly why I feel the way I do.

            “Thirdly, and this is the clincher. ‘Have you ever been in a war Keeper Paven? For example, were you at the Battle of Denerim?’ For some reason he wasn’t. May be he was with a different clan then, I don’t know.   ‘Well, my Da’ was and I’ll tell you what my Da’ said to me. Anybody who says war is glorious just hasn’t been in a war.   It’s brutal and scary and a lot of innocent people get caught in the crossfire. He said he spent more of the Battle of Denerim running around trying to throw up barriers and the like to stop ordinary citizens being caught in the flashy area affect spells that they _had_ to use to thin out the horde, than he actually did fighting the darkspawn. War is not nice for anyone, particularly the little people.’  

            ‘Right, Keeper Paven, what did you say that the Creators and the Forgotten Ones were doing when he shut them away? They were in the middle of a war. I would imagine that all the ordinary little elves had a very bad time caught in the crossfire of a war between two sets of gods. What does Fen’Harel do? Well, clearly neither side is willing to back off and make a peace without him sweet talking them and after all it was only a temporary truce.  So he locks them away. No more war. And all the little ordinary elves can get on with their lives in peace.   He’s a friggin’ hero.’

            “There is a short silence. ‘I think,’ says Keeper Paven, “that it would be better if you didn’t take the vallaslin for the present.’ ‘Thank you,’ says I ‘I think so too.’ And that is why, in the eyes of the Dalish, I am still a child.”

            Issala gave him an appraising look. “So you don’t feel you were being a little disrespectful of your elder?”

           “Not when what he says makes no sense to me. Have you always accepted what you are told without question?”

           She gave a knowing smile.   “No, I have not, and that is partly why I’m here talking with you instead of on Par Vollen.”

           Ellas laughed. “Here’s to the thinkers.” He raised his hand in a salute.

           Ahead of them Oswyn smiled to himself.   They were an interesting pair and no mistake.

 


	5. Chapter 5

            As the morning progressed, Ellas noticed as they were riding along that every time he glanced back, Burren was staring at him.   If he moved his pony around in the line, Burren seemed to follow him with his eyes.   He found this somewhat disconcerting and decided to ask Jasce about it.

            “Don’t you know the reason, laddie?”

            “No.”

            “Just how innocent are you?   I thought hanging out in taverns would have made you a bit more worldly wise.”

            “Oh, well I haven’t been hanging out in taverns for very long and the first ten years of my life were spent in the woods with me Mam and Da’ and then the next ten with the clan, so I suppose I have had a rather sheltered upbringing.”

            “Burren likes men, you know, in bed.”

            “No kidding?”

            “So you’ve not come across this in the clan?”

            “No but I suppose it is possible I missed the talk about it that others get. It is a pity I didn’t know then because I could have asked the Keeper about it.”

            “That probably wouldn’t have gone down well.   You see you Dalish like to do things traditional, don’t you?”

            “Yes, it’s quite a thing with us.”

            “Yes, well I’ve noticed how people who like to do things traditional seem to have a problem with Burren.”

            “Really? That’s a shame.”

            “It is, isn’t it? He’s actually a really likeable person when you get to know him but people who like to do things traditional don’t seem to give him a chance.” There was a short pause. “So I take it you aren’t interested then?”

            “No.”

            “Pity, I was hoping to throw him a bone.”

            “Pardon?”

            “Did you notice his trousers last stop to relieve himself?”

            “You could hardly miss them.   Don’t they make his eyes water being that tight?”

            “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?   The Bann and I have tried all sorts of things to get him to change his ways but Burren is stubborn and thinks that they make him look more attractive. Now if a nice handsome young lad like yourself was to tell him you find baggy pants attractive on a man, we might have a hope of achieving something.”

            “Well I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to compliment him a bit.”

            “Believe me it would and I wouldn’t want you to raise false hopes in him.”

            “Surely it’s not as though it has to end in physical.”

            “You do know what I mean by likes men in bed don’t you?   That’s what Burren will expect anyway.”

            “Well, maybe I should broaden his horizons a bit.”

            “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

            “Probably not but I’ve always liked a challenge. Now it is only the baggy pants thing isn’t it?   Only I don’t want to charm the pants off him only to find you coming up with whole long list of other things you’d like changing. That’s wouldn’t be fair.”

            “No, just the pants will do.”

            “Okay then, I’ll see what I can do.”

            He cantered off on his Magpie and as he passed the pack pony with Burren gave a cheery smile and a wave before circling back to just behind Oswyn.   Burren looked in Jasce’s direction and gave him a thumbs up sign, grinning from ear to ear.

            “Oh dear,” thought Jasce. “I hope I’m not going to regret this.”

*****

            When they stopped for lunch Ellas got his pony settled in short order. It helped that he had experience looking after the halla with his Mam. He noticed that Burren didn’t actually seem to be doing anything with his pony. After being helped down from the basket seat, along with Scruffy from the other, it would seem that Jasce had left them whilst he attended his riding horse. Burren was sitting on top of his writing chest. Clearly he had been told to keep a watch on the puppy, which was hauling on a rope that he was holding to keep him amused. He was looking rather forlorn and clearly not enjoying the experience. Helping him out seemed a good way to introduce himself.

            “Hello, I’m Ellas, pleased to meet you.”

            He held out his right hand and then instantly wondered if this was the wrong thing to do with dwarves. Part of the reason he had been so willing to play along with Jasce was that he knew next to nothing about dwarves, so this seemed a good opportunity to find out more.   Burren jerked out of whatever reverie he had been in and looked flustered.

            “Oh, hello,” Ellas could almost swear that the dwarf was blushing but it was difficult to tell under the beard. “Erm, I’m Burren.”

            Wasn’t he sure?   There was a short pause. Ellas realised that clearly he was going to have to get things moving. It was strange but after the puppy eyes and the conversation with Jasce he had imagined that Burren would be more forward than he was.

            “I wondered if you might like some help with your pony,” he looked down at Scruffy, who was now worrying Burren’s shoe, “or the puppy.”

            “Really? That’s so kind.”

            He seemed genuinely surprised as though people weren’t generally kind to him. Burren definitely wasn’t what he had expected.

            “So what’s it to be, the pony or the dog?”

            “Well Jasce said he would be back to do the pony but I would really appreciate if you would take the puppy off my hands. I’m not very good with animals, not topsider ones anyway.”

            “Topsider?”

            Ellas took the rope and held in the air just out of reach above the puppy’s head. Scruffy left the shoe and started after the rope again. Ellas deftly used it to move him away from Burren.

            “It’s what the dwarves use to refer to people who live on the surface.”

            “Yes, I can see that would make sense. You know, you are the first dwarf I’ve encountered.”

            “Ever?”

            “Pretty much so,” he agreed. “I saw a whole group of them at a distance during the Fifth Blight when my clan was part of the Hero of Ferelden’s army but I’ve never actually talked with one.”

            “You don’t look old enough to have been in the army.”

            “Oh, no, I wasn’t. It’s just that we were part of the camp followers so to speak. The Dalish fathers weren’t about to up and leave their wives and children around unprotected, so we followed along. When you think about it, probably the safest place to be was as part of the army.”

            “The Hero of Ferelden came to Orzammar. I believe someone said they were responsible for Bhelen getting the Crown. I’ve mixed feelings about that. It is true that he has opened us up to the outside world more, which actually could prove vital to our survival as a whole, but he is a nasty piece of work is Bhelen.”

            “So, why did you leave?”

            That’s when Burren seemed really flustered and looked down awkwardly.   Clearly this was a sore point.

            “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been so nosy.”

            Burren rallied a little. “It’s just that I’m not supposed to tell anyone the details.”

            “That’s okay, I don’t need detail but I was curious why you left that’s all. Do you miss it?”

            “No,” said Burren quickly. “That’s about the only good thing about being sent into exile.   I never really fitted in and up here is much nicer.   I’m not very good out in the woods but I do like seeing the woods from the inside.”

            “You were sent into exile? You mean you didn’t go voluntarily?”

            “No, I was exiled and I can never go back even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

            “That sounds awful. I’m not terribly expert on matters outside my clan but don’t you have to commit some sort of major crime to be exiled, you know like killing someone?”

            “Oh yes, you can be exiled for that. In fact that is the most common reason, along with fixing the Provings.”

            “Provings?” Ellas realised he kept firing back queries but he did know so little about dwarves. He wondered if Burren thought he seemed terribly ignorant.

            “Yes, the Provings are a big deal. They are going on all the time. It’s the way a lot of issues are resolved. People go in and fight one another and if they win, then it is declared that the Stone adjudged the matter in their favour.”

            Ellas was going to say “Stone?” but thought better of it.   Presumably that was some sort of official term for their Government.   After all, dwarves live underground so “Stone” sort of made sense.

            “What happens if you can’t fight?”

            “Then normally you pay someone to fight for you.”

            Scruffy stopped playing with the rope, yawned and lay down at Ellas’ feet.

            “Wow,” said Burren. “You certainly have a way with animals.”

            “I like animals, they don’t have an agenda.   What you see is what you get?”

            Burren smiled. “You sound like Jasce.   He says that’s why he prefers his mabari to most people.”

            Somewhere further across camp there came a whinnying, followed by a human scream and then Jasce’s voice cursing their stupidity.   Burren looked down at Scruffy again and noticed Ellas’ feet.

            “You’re wearing shoes.”

            “Moccasins actually. I believe they are made of much lighter material than shoes.”

            “And such pretty embroidery.”

            “You sounded surprised I was wearing them.”

            “Okay, you promise you won’t judge _me_ on this. It is purely what a lot of dwarves believe. They think that it helps the elves connect to the land.”

            “Well, I suppose that is pretty much what we _do_ believe.”

            “Really!   I thought it was just dwarves who were illogical.”

            “I get the feeling that I’m missing something here. Would you care to explain?”

            “Most dwarves in Orzammar are terrified of being exiled, not simply because of the shame of it, but they will have to go topside and may fall into the sky.”

            “Come again? How can you fall into the sky?”

            “Exactly, that is what I was always saying. It makes no logical sense. Even if you have never been there, clearly the sky is up and the earth is down.   Why would we suddenly go floating off into space, particularly when no one else seems to do so? That’s when I was told that probably the humans and qunari don’t because they are big and heavy and well, elves don’t because they go barefoot so they sort of stay connected.”

            “You’re shitting me?” Ellas’ started to giggle.

            “No honestly,” said Burren and then he started to giggle too.

            “Well I must admit I always just assumed that it was some sort of spiritual connection,” said Ellas. “Which although is a sort of nonsense it just about makes sense but now you have raised the doubt in my mind, I’m wondering whether I misunderstood all the time and we actually share this idiocy.”

            He started to do what he knew was a passable imitation of Keeper Paven. “Oh no, Ellas, you need to go barefoot to stay connected.” His own voice. “But its bloody freezing and my toes are cold.” Keeper Paven: “You’ll get used to it.” Ellas: “But why when we can just wear nice furry boots?”

            Ellas started to crease up with laughter finding it very hard to get the last piece out. “And you know what he said?”

            They said it together. “It’s traditional.”

            By now they were both crying with laughter.   Eventually they both calmed down enough that Ellas was able to speak once more.

            “I like you Burren, I really do and I think _we_ have made a connection, with or without shoes, but I’m sorry mate, it’s not going to happen, I’m really not going to go to bed with you, well not for what Jasce says you want me to go to bed with you for.”

            Burren looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

            “Please don’t take it personally. Since I have no experience of dwarves, I have no idea what is considered the ideal dwarven physique but I have to admit to my mind you are pleasing on the eye, even though I’ve never encountered beards before either.   However, I’ve spent the whole morning thinking it through and trying to find some way to accommodate you, because Jasce said I should not lead you on if it wasn’t going anywhere, but no matter which way I looked at it, even from the perspective of a one off experience purely for curiosity value, I just couldn’t do it.   It wouldn’t be honest and it wouldn’t be real and in fact I don’t think that would be fair on you.”

            “Thank you for explaining.” Burren still looked subdued.

            “However, if you don’t mind compromising on the physical side, I could still be your friend.”

            Now of all the responses he was expecting, from yes, no, maybe, to forget it, the only one he hadn’t factored in was the possibility to Burren would burst into tears, which is what he did. Ellas decided now was not the time for whimsy, although he did find it flattering that the prospect of not being able to have sex with him was so devastating.   Still as Burren continued to weep he started to feel guilty at having brought this on so he considered what his Mam would have done in such a situation if she could see Burren crying like that. His Mam he decided would have put her arm around him and comforted him, so he did.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that disappointing you like that would have this affect.”

            “Oh no,” Burren started to calm down. “That’s not what brought on the emotion. It is the fact that you asked to be my friend.”

            Jasce walked past and started to work on the pony.   Ellas was glad that he loosened the girth and led the pony across camp without saying anything.

            “Has no one done so before?”

            “Not really, not since I came topside, apart from Jasce and my mother had written to him asking him to look after me, so whilst we're good friends now he didn't actually seek my friendship initially.   Not that I had many friends in Orzamaar once Dagna went away.   She was older than me but when you are the only two dwarves who don’t fit in you tend to gravitate towards one another.   It was worse for her in a way. I mean at least as a noble you can get away with doing nothing rather than doing something you don’t want to.   Dagna was the Smith Caste and so it naturally followed that she was going to be a Smith. Like father, like daughter, that sort of thing.   Alternatively, if she could find a nice husband from a higher caste and then have a son, the family would automatically move up the social rankings. What you can’t do is say you don’t want any of it and want to study magic.”

            “I thought I heard dwarves couldn’t be mages though.”

            “Oh, Dagna understood that.   She didn’t care. Magic fascinated her. The wonderful thing about it is that instead of studying magic for the power she could have, she wanted to study it just because she could and hoped to find out interesting things. You know the Hero of Ferelden is called a hero because of stopping the Blight and, don’t get me wrong, that was important but they were a Hero to me for arranging for Dagna to study at Kinloch Hold.   I could even forgive them for putting Bhelen on the throne when I heard that.   She was so happy.   She was dancing around like she was on air, which I have to tell you is not easy for a dwarf, so I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was heartbroken because I was losing my only real friend.   Still she kept on writing to me and then after I came here she ended up as some sort of magical advisor to the Inquisition. Then the most wonderful part was when she wrote me and said she had found love. Would you believe it, that was with an elf but, and I never really understood before I met you, not an elfy elf.”

            “In other words, not traditional.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Well, what about it then, Burren, do you want to be my friend? To be honest I haven’t had that many real friends either.”

            “Oh yes. Explain to me what you meant by ‘compromise on the physical’ though.”

            “Hmm, essentially everything from the waist up is okay, you know like kissing or hugging, and everything from the waist down is off limits.”

            “That seems fair.   What about seeing each other naked?”

            “Well you see, Burren, whilst I’d have no objection in principle, I have a feeling that might be too much for you at the present time. It could get you all stirred up and might end a beautiful friendship before it even began.     Still I’m willing to come back to it at a later date, once we know each other a little better.”

            Burren cheered immeasurably. “Okay.”

            “There is one other thing. It’s those tight pants. To be honest, mate, they do you no favours and I am actually worried they might be bad for your circulation. Mam told me if you restrict the blood supply too much to certain parts of the body, bits start to fall off.”

            That worried him. “What do you suggest I do? I’ve only got these tight ones in my overnight bag.”

            “You know, I strongly suspect that if you tell Jasce, he will produce some baggy pants for you. However, I’m not overly keen on them either. It’s just a temporary measure until you get to Brandyholme. Do you know if there are any clothes shops there?”

            “I think there is one for outdoor clothes of the forest variety.”

            “Excellent, just what you need, certainly whilst we are out here. That way you can be stylish and practical at the same time. Now I think you should go for forest leggings. They tend to be made in a nice supple sort of leather called buckskin.”

            “Oh leather, I like the sound of that.”

            “I thought you might. Then for a jacket I would go with frontiersman. They are often made of the same buckskin as the trousers and have these little tassels arranged in lines all over them. If you don’t mind paying a bit more you might get some pretty embroidery as well but alternatively get the plain one and I’ll embroider it for you.”

            Burren’s eyes widened. “You do embroidery?”

            “Yes, any form of sewing really. Mam taught me.   You see we’d never intended living in the clan while Da’ was alive so you have to be able to do multiple things. In the clan people tend to specialise more. Would you like me to prepare you lunch, only I think we’re meant to do that for ourselves as well.”

            “That’s really kind of you Ellas but if you don’t mind teaching me, I think I could do my bit.”

            “I’ve just remembered, don’t throw away the pants. I’d say give them to the local poor but I don’t think many people would have a use for dwarf size 0.   However, I can use them. So hang onto them until you get back to Dragon’ Peak and bundle them up and I’ll take them with me when I go to see my children.”

            “You have children?”

            “No, they’re not _my_ children. That stuff in my songs, if you ever heard it, is just what the audience want to hear.”

            “Told him.”

            “Among my many and varied little projects is my orphanage set up to save children from starvation and the Chantry.”

            Burran started to laugh. “Do you really mean that?”

            “Of course, I can’t stand the Chantry.   I nearly ruined my chances with Bann Sighard by saying that I was allergic to bullshit.”

            “Was Jasce there?”

            “Yes, he seemed to be having some difficulty containing his amusement.”

            “I’ll bet; he hates the Chantry too.   Now is not the time to tell it though. How many children have you got?”

            “Ten so far. It’s down in Gwaren. A nice little grey haired old elf lady manages it when I’m not there and we take any children, not just elves.   Do you know the first item of clothing I always buy them?”

            “Let me guess, shoes.”

            “You know I really think we are made for each other. Yes, shoes, well moccasins actually because they are easier to make and give sufficiently so they don’t pinch their feet.   I must admit children seem to go through shoes at such a rate but luckily as they grow out of them, we just keep them for the next child.   There is a lovely shoe rack by the front door with each child having a compartment with their name on it.”

            Burren gave a happy smile. “I can’t believe I could ever have been disappointed that you didn’t want to sleep with me.   You are just friggin’ awesome. I’m lucky to know you let alone have you as my friend.”

            Ellas gave a wide grin. “Oh, Burren, you don’t know the half of it yet.”


	6. Chapter 6

            Once they were back on the road again, Jasce had a suggestion to make to Ellas and Issala.

            “There have been reports of bandits waylaying people on this stretch of the road to Brandyholme but they are unlikely to show themselves to a band of this size.   So why don’t you ride on ahead with Gerry and the pack ponies and maybe that’ll flush them out.”

            “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” said Burren who had overheard the plan.

            “Relax,” said Jasce. “I doubt Issala would even break sweat dealing with them and Ellas will be there as back up.” He turned back to the other two. “So what about it?”

            “I’m game,” said Ellas.

            “Just to be clear,” said Issala. “Do you want them taken alive or not?”

            “That’s entirely up to you.”

            “Very well, let’s do it.”

            As they rode off into the distance, Oswyn and Jasce slowed the rest of the group to a walk.  

            “So what do you think of them so far?” Oswyn said to Jasce.

            “Both are promising. Young Ellas has an easy way with him that encourages people to open up and Issala is beginning to show something of her true self. “

            “She certainly spoke eloquently about the Qun and not in derogatory fashion either. I thought all Tal-Vashoth hate the Qun.”

            “And all Ash Warriors admire dwarves and despise elves,” Jasce responded with a raise of his eyebrows. “I think it is best not to make generalisations.”

            “I’m glad Ellas finally managed to get Burren out of those trousers.”

            “Yes, that was quite something, charming the pants off Burren without having to lose his own. That lad’s got a gift and no mistake.”

*****

            “So how do you want to play it if we do flush out any bandits?” asked Ellas.

            “I will dismount and engage them on foot,” responded Issala. “You should stay back as I make quite a wide sweep with my glaive.   Just keep an eye out for any archers or mages lurking in the shadows.”

            “No problem.” He turned to Gerry. “You just need to stay back and look after the animals.   I don’t think Bann Sighard will be very pleased if we injure his precious horses.” He glanced at Burren with a grin. “Same goes for Jasce and that puppy.”

            “Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere,” said Burren. “And neither am I.”

            They had been trotting for around twenty minutes when a figure appeared on the road ahead.

            “Here we go,” said Ellas. “Ready everyone?”

            Issala immediately dismounted, tossing the reins to Gerry.   Then she strode ahead of them towards the figure who was now clearly a man in leather armour, removing the glaive from her back as she did so and slipping off the blade protectors.   Two more figures joined him having emerged from the undergrowth.  

            Ellas slipped off Magpie and tossed his reins to Gerry too.   The latter eased his own mount to a halt and the horses huddled round him in a group.   Ellas removed his staff from its harness across his back and held it ready, scanning the trees and brush on either side of the path for further assailants.

            “Nice horses,” said the man. “Tell you what, we’ll take them and let you go.”

            “How about I kill you instead,” declared Issala and sent her glaive into a spinning motion, rushing straight at the speaker.

            “Wait…..” His objection ended in a gurgle as she slashed a blade across his neck.

            The other two started to retreat, desperately trying to counter her blows but to no avail.   Meanwhile, Ellas caught sight of an archer in one of the branches and sent a sharp bolt of arcane energy in his direction.   The man jerked and then fell out of the tree.

            “Behind you,” yelled Burren at Issala.

            She span around on the spot sweeping the glaive around with her and caught the bandit across his legs even though he was trying to stealth sneak up on her.   He gave a hideous scream, abruptly cut off as she reversed her weapon and sliced off his head.   A rustle in the undergrowth indicating someone trying to escape and she hefted the glaive like a spear and threw it in the direction of the sound.   There was a grunt and then silence.   She jogged into the trees and recovered her glaive, wiping the blades on the clothes of one of her victims.

           “Well, that was easy,” grinned Ellas. “You are really impressive.” There was a touch of awe in his voice.

           “I’ve had plenty of practice,” she responded with a wry smile.

           They gathered up the horses and proceeded on their way.     A short time later the main group rounded the bend in the road to be confronted by the site of the carnage.

           “It would seem the bandits were successfully flushed out,” said Jasce dryly.

******

            There were no more incidents that afternoon and the sun was just dipping behind the trees when Issala, Ellas, Gerry and Burren arrived at a large clearing near a spring of clear water.

            “Looks like a good place to halt for the night,” declared Issala. “We can await the others here.”

            By the time the main party had caught them up, Ellas and Gerry had got a fire going and their equipment was stashed neatly at the side of the clearing.   Issala had tended to the horses and Burren had fed Scruffy.   Oswyn and Jasce shared approving looks and went about dealing with their own animals and equipment.   The rest of the recruits following suit and before long the camp had been set with efficiency.   After everyone had eaten, Jasce addressed the company.

            “It has always been a tradition of any company we lead that the first night we have an evening of entertainment with everyone making a contribution, be it a song, poem, joke, anecdote or just a few words from the heart.   So gather round, Bann Sighard will begin proceedings and I will end them.   The rest of you just step up when you feel the urge to do so. Anyone got a problem with that?” There were no objections. “Good.   Take it away then, if you please.” He nodded to Oswyn, who shuffled into the firelight and began.

            “It is said that the Maker first created man.

            Then he thought better of it and created woman.

            Finally he thought he could do better still,

            So he took the essence of the four winds

            And he created the horse,

            Which has the strength and courage of a man

            And the grace and beauty of a woman.

            Thunder is in their foot fall

            And laughter in their neighs

            They are a wild, free spirit

            That shall never entirely be tamed.”

 

            Next up was Gerry, who stood with his hands behind his back.

            “In case you were wondering, Jasce wrote this rhyme for me.

            'I’m Gerry and I’m in a disguise.

            I’m a man but if you think I’m a woman

            It’s because it’s a really good disguise

            You see the Maker made it

            As part of his inexorable plan

            If you think that’s hard on Gerry,

            That’s right, be kind if you can.

            But please don’t make a mistake

            I’m Gerry and I’m definitely a man'.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

          After that one of the regular recruits stepped up to say his piece.   Ellas noticed that Burren seemed to be shifting uncomfortably.

          “What’s up?” he whispered.

          “I’m feeling nervous.   I don’t know what to do.”

          “Do whatever comes naturally. Tell you what, I’ll go first and lighten things up with a bit of comedy. That will help you relax. Okay?”

          Burren nodded.   A couple more recruits made their contribution and then Ellas stepped forward into the light.

          “I thought I would give you a story. It is a little lengthy but I hope that is acceptable.”

          “Go ahead,” said Jasce.

          Ellas nodded. “Now before I begin my tale, I ought to acquaint you with a few facts so you’ll appreciate what is going on.

          “First, I have this fixation with interesting people and as a young teenager it was even worse because I was definitely bad about deferring to my elders and betters on this one. It didn’t matter if the person was “safe” or “dangerous” and let’s face it dangerous people are on the whole infinitely more interesting than safe ones, that was my main criteria for assessing their merits. They had to be interesting.

          “Second, whilst the Dalish seem more open minded about most magic than the Circles that were around at that time, in one thing the Circles were actually more tolerant than the Dalish and that is the matter of spirits and by this I mean benevolent ones, like compassion and faith. As my Da’ explained the Circle might not exactly be comfortable with Spirit Healers but they at least have the good sense to allow them to develop to their true potential.   Not so the Dalish. Among my people, all spirits are dangerous. This makes Spirit Healers rather rare, so we are shooting ourselves in the foot there. Mam was a talented Spirit Healer but only because she eloped with my Da’ at the tender age of eighteen before, as Da’ put it the Dalish had managed to ruin her gift.   For the next ten years out in the woods with Da’ and me, Mam developed into a really gifted healer.   See what I mean about my people shooting themselves in the foot?

          “Third, something you should know about bears. They rarely reveal what they are thinking in their faces. I think this is due to their size.   The smaller the animal the more it feels the need to convince you that it is in fact, big. Take the little terriers you find in the cities. If they are upset with you they will yammer and bark at you in the rather strange conviction that this will somehow impress you. Not so the bear. Utterly confident in their size and superiority the bear will maintain an entirely expressionless face right up to the moment they bite your head off. Never play Wicked Grace with a bear; they’d win hands down every time.

          “Lastly, in moments of high drama I have a tendency to turn to whimsy to help me cope.

          “Right, so I think that is enough with background information to help you appreciate this tale. Now I shall begin, The Bear with no Hair.

          “It was a warm summer evening and the clan were just settling down to our traditional round of storytelling after dinner when who should stroll into our camp but this strange looking, bald headed elf. By the by he was able to stroll in because our guards had given him leave. I wouldn’t want you to think we were that careless.   Also I may have left out a few of the initial verbal pleasantries for the sake of brevity.

          ‘Hello’, he says, ‘I thought we might share a few stories.’

          ‘Naturally,’ says Keeper Paven in welcoming fashion. ‘Come sit with us.’

          So I shuffled up a bit to let him sit next to me.

          ‘Tell you what,’ said our Keeper, ‘since we’ve already heard all our stories, why don’t you go first.’

          “That seemed to please the elf and he launched into a series of tales. There was one about a city of Barindur that seemed to have suffered some sort of natural disaster or maybe not. Anyway that one fell a bit flat on us because the name meant nothing. Then he told about finding some dwarf bodies in a ring around a dead child, clearly protecting them to the last man. That was more touching even if the story would have been better if he’d used elves.   Then he mentioned some baker in Par Vollen. Again the significance of this tale went largely over our heads. Nevertheless, I thought to myself, if he has actually been to these places, he must have seen quite a bit.   He sounds interesting.

          “So now it’s our turn. Our storyteller decides to go with the story of Falon’Din and Dirthamen, a lovely tale of brotherly love, except as the tale progresses I notice the elf beside me twitching a bit as though something is upsetting him. I wonder if he’s sat on an ants’ nest.   Still he manages to contain himself until we get to the end of the tale. Then he stands up and says that we’ve got it all wrong. It would seem Falon’Din in particular was a nasty piece of work and anything but a loving brother. The Keeper to give him his due, which I often didn’t, kept his temper and asked why we should believe him? ‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen these things in the Fade when I’ve been meditating in ruins and I’ve talked with the spirits there.’

          “Now if he was trying to convince us of the reliability of his source on Falon’Din, he chose about the worst example he could. You don’t tell the Dalish that you have been lying around in ruins talking to spirits. I could see Keeper Paven steadily turn puce before he stands up and points his finger out of the camp.

          ‘Out!’ he orders. ‘Away with you, you demon lover.’

          ‘They’re not demons, they’re spirits.’

          “This elf clearly had not done his research on the Dalish.

          “Anyway, while they are yelling at each other, I’m forming the germ of an idea. If I leave camp and circle round I can probably intercept him as he leaves once he is far enough away that the Keeper won’t catch me doing it. So that’s what I did.   I carefully swung round, left the story area and ran like the wind in the only direction he could go, since we were in a box canyon at the time.  

          “Sure enough, before long he comes striding down the path from the camp and though the purposefulness of his stride suggests he might be a little put out by events, his face showed nothing.

          “Hello,” says I. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about our People.”

          “You’re not People.”

          “Now thinking back on it maybe I didn’t hear him right and what he was trying to say was that in view of the reception he’d received we clearly weren’t the same type of People as he was, which was fair enough.   However, all that crossed my mind at the time was that he was another Thelhen.   I only attended one Arlathvhen, just after Keeper Paven took me on as his First and he introduced me to the other Keepers. Thelhen though seemed to think I was inferior stock because my Da’ hadn’t been born Dalish, or for that matter ever lived with a clan. He muttered something about waifs and strays. To be honest Clan Virnehn were not universally liked among the clans since they have what may be described as ultra traditionalist views, or what my Da’ called fundamentalists. In other words, they were arses. (At this point Ellas noticed that Burren was holding his side he was laughing so much. He noticed Jasce seemed to be enjoying it too.)

          “So you have to understand why it was that I reacted as I did.

          ‘Fen’Harel take you, what’s makes you so special?’ And I threw a stone at him.

          “Now in my defence, as I later tried to explain to my Mam, I was actually aiming to miss, truly I was, but wouldn’t you know it, the moment you try to miss some large object, what should happen but you actually hit it. Bam, almost centrally in his forehead just a short way above the eyes and with such force it may actually have left a scar.

          “And it was the moment I heard the ‘donk’ as it bounced off him that it occurred to me that maybe I had overstretched myself. For as time seemed to freeze for the few seconds that he stared into my eyes in response, his face utterly emotionless, I remember two thoughts crossing my mind.

          “First, that my Mam’s often repeated censure that ‘interesting people will be the death of you, Ellas,’ might actually come true.

          “Second, as the whimsy kicked in, ‘Aw, Naw, it’s a Bear with no Hair.’

          “Well, once the second idea started, it seemed I was going to run with it and how I would respond if the elf retaliated to my action was entirely predicated on how I would cope if he was indeed a bear.

          “Should I run? No; for a start that would mean turning your back on the bear, and besides which bears can run really fast over short distances, fast enough to run down anybody except a champion runner.   He looked pretty nimble to me.

          “Should I climb a tree? Not recommended for whilst he may elect not to follow me up the tree I was almost certain that the stick he held was indeed a staff.

          “Should I play dead? This actually works really well with a real bear, since they will then likely bury you, not too deeply, as they like the meat to be a little less than fresh, intending to come back later. After they have departed the scene, then you run home.   In the case of the Bear with no Hair, the plan revolved around the idea that if I could time it exactly right, the moment he used the said staff to fire something at me, I might drop to the ground and lie really still in the hope he would believe he had actually hit me.

          “You will immediately identify that there are a lot of flaws to this plan. To start with it is actually rather hard to time movement right to avoid a magic spell. I should know since I’m a mage. Second, should he use an area effect spell for which dropping to the ground wouldn’t do much good. Third he might actually check to see if I was dead.

          “In the end, of course, I need not have worried since he did nothing more than saying enigmatically:

          ‘May you learn.’ Then he turned and walked away into the forest.

          “To be honest, after the high excitement and expectation that he would actually do something, it was something of a let down and I began to wonder if the staff had indeed been a walking stick.   Anyway I went home and rather unwisely told my Mam about the experience, including the bit about the stone.

          ‘Oh, Ellas, I’m so ashamed of you. How many times have I told you, you should not respond to hurtful words by actual physical violence? “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”.’   It was one of her favourite sayings, which is rather ironic really because, whilst I do not believe she had ever done physical harm to anyone in her life, metaphorically speaking, she could flay my skin with her words when she was angry. On this particular day she seemed as much upset as angry. Nevertheless she sent me to my aravel to _think_ about it.  

          “Normally after a couple of hours I would slink out with my tail between my legs and apologise. For some reason, though, on this occasion I was stubborn. The following evening, with Mam handing me in trays of food and taking out the chamber pot, finally I came out and apologised to her. It was then that I discovered she was also intending that I should apologise to the Bear with no Hair.   When I objected she explained.

          ‘The moment you told me how you had provoked him and yet he had done nothing, I felt nothing but bad about the way the clan had treated him. You see, whilst it would clearly have been an overreaction if he had harmed you, nevertheless there are plenty of people in this world who would have done exactly that. Yet, he recognised you were simply a rash and foolish cub and left you alone. Not only that but you did a terrible thing in cursing him with Fen’Harel. You only do that to really bad people. That is why, when the hunters locate him, not only will you be apologising but I will be thanking him for not taking my son from me.’

          “Yet, as it turned out, they never did find the elf again. It would seem he had left our part of the forest. It was probably because it didn’t have enough ruins for him.

          And that was the end of my encounter with the Bear with no Hair.”


	8. Chapter 8

           Ellas gave a short bow and then looked pointedly in the direction of Burren, waving him forward.   As Burren reached him, looking self-conscious, he whispered.

           “Whatever is in your heart say it.”

           Ellas stood off to one side but kept his gaze fixed on Burren, willing him on.   Burren gave a small cough and then said.

           “This is what was in my heart the day I walked away from Orzammar.”

           He started to tap on the side of his leg with his hand, closed his eyes and began to sing.

 

          “I’m going where the wild wind blows where I long for in my heart

          I’m going where the wild wind blows, a new life to start

          It won’t be easy, that I know, but it’s the place where I want to go

          I’m going where the wild wind blows.

 

          I’m going where the wild wind blows where the wild birds fly on high

          I’m going where the wild wind blows where you can see the dawn light the sky

          It’ll be tough, it’ll be hard but anything’s better than this cold stone yard

          I’m going where the wild wind blows.

 

          I’m going where the wild wind blows where there is freshness in the air

          I’m going where the wild wind blows, I’m going to shake this soot from my hair

          I’m going where the wind is clean and if you’ll come with me you’ll see what I mean

          I’m going where the wild wind blows

 

          I’m going where the wild wind blows, away from boredom and security

          I’m going where the wild wind blows, I’m going to break off my chains and be free

          And if what I’ve imagine is really a lie, at least I’ll have tried it before I die

          I’m going where the wild wind blows.”

 

          He opened his eyes, met Ellas’ gaze and smiled as he saw his friend silently clapping him. As he left the firelight to resume his place on the perimeter, Ellas met him and gave him a warm hug.

          “That was amazing,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you say you could sing?”

          “I never did before tonight.”

          “Well, don’t you let it be the only time, you were wonderful.”

          They sat down together and Ellas placed his arm around Burren, holding him close against him. Issala stood up and addressed the audience.

          “Among the Qunari the word Bas is a derogatory term for anyone not of the Qun. However, if someone is named Basalit-an that means respected foreigner and is a high honour. Very few people merit the title.   I understand your Hero was named as such by the Sten who served with her in the Fifth Blight.   The former Arishok also gave it to Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, and that was why he agreed to single combat to decide the fate of Kirkwall.   I also know that your King Alistair was named as such by the current Arishok, who was the same Sten who had fought with him against the darkspawn horde.

          “I’m not much of a singer but I heard this ballad over in the Anderfels written by someone called Darydur Pinglik. It made me think of how it might be if the Arishok were to meet King Alistair again.

          “Oh East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet,

          Till Earth and Sky stand presently at the Maker’s judgement seat.

          But there is neither East, nor West,

          Border nor Breed nor Birth,

          When two strong men stand face to face,

          Though they come from the ends of the earth!”

 

         “That would certainly be something to see.” Ellas whispered to Burren.

         “It may have already happened.”

         “Really?”

         “I’m not sure but it had something to do when he went looking for his father a few years back.   Oswyn would know the details. I’d be more interested how she knows so much about the Arishok.

         “That’s true.   When I was talking with her earlier she seemed remarkably well informed about the workings of the Qun.”

         “I may not know a great deal about Tal-Vasoth but from what I’ve heard they normally hate the Qun with a vengeance.”

         “She certainly didn’t seem that way. May be she’s like me with the Dalish or you with the dwarves.   We can see the faults in the system but we don’t actively hate it.   It is that it is simply not for us.”

         The remaining recruits stood up and said their piece. Finally, when Jasce was satisfied that everyone had taken their turn, he stood forward himself.

          “Now for the final contribution, it is my account of how I survived the Battle of Ostagar.”

          He stood for a few seconds in silence as though recalling the events of so long before and then he began.

          “My mabari at that time was Bear. He was the size of a bear too.   The biggest mabari there’s ever been or so the wise men say. Was the only pup in the litter and his mother died bringing him into the world, so I bottle fed him until he was weened.   Nothing could stop Bear and you’d not want to be on the wrong end of his charge.

          “We went to Ostagar with Bann Sighard’s forces but whilst they went with Loghain, I joined my brothers in the ranks with King Cailan.   The Ash Warriors have always been the honour guard of the rightful king right back to Calenhad, although we trace back even further to the time of the warrior Luthias Dwarfson.

          “There we were; my brothers and I, standing alongside the King with the Grey Wardens, with our hounds barking and eager for the fight, whilst death grew steadily closer. I think we all knew that many of us would not survive the day but what did it matter if we stood by our King?   If you’ve never faced down darkspawn it is hard to imagine how terrifying they can be but we were facing a darkspawn _horde_.   Darkness goes before them and looking into their eyes is looking into the pits of the Void.

          “They started their charge and the King gives the order to the archers. A forest of arrows is loosed but it barely made a dent in their line. Then the next order ‘Hounds’. Off goes Bear along with the others. Those hounds were so brave, racing into the brunt of the charge. I followed his progress as far as I could and I saw the sadness on Cailan’s face as so many good mabari died, but then he picks himself up and raises his sword on high.”

          “For Ferelden!”          

          “Then I’m off in Bear’s wake, running with my brothers, running with my King straight into the jaws of death.   For a time we seem to be holding back the tide but they were relentless as the sea and slowly they started to push back against us. That was when I took a glancing blow to the face that gave me this.”

          He gestured to the scar running diagonally across his face between the eyes from forehead to cheek bone just above his nose.

          “I was lucky it was glancing or I wouldn’t be here now. It also probably prevented it being infected with the taint.   After that I knew only darkness, so I did not witness the betrayal.

          “I don’t know how long I lay there but when I came to again there was only silence and I was buried beneath a pile of corpses.   Suddenly someone was lifting them off me.  It was Bear!   Somehow that old mabari had survived the fight.   He clears them away and then looks to me as to what I want to do next. I’m not fit to do anything and it was probably the head wound that had me not thinking straight when I told him.

          ‘Carry me home.’

          “So somehow between us we got me up on his back. And he carried me home.  

          “Past darkspawn, through rivers, crossing hills and mountains, finally reaching the forest around Dragon’s Peak that old mabari kept going. It was nigh on two hundred miles, so don’t ask me how he did it, but he did.   He was wounded and the taint was in his blood that should have weakened him, so he would have died anyway and I think that he knew it.   That was why old Bear kept going, with me passing in and out of consciousness, so I was no help.   One last journey together; Ash Warrior and hound.

          “Only when we were in sight of the Keep did Bear start to falter. I was roused by the sound of voices calling our names and I can feel he’s weaving from side to side, unsteady on his feet.   They would have taken me from him but I wouldn’t let them take his triumph, not when he had come so far and was so close to his goal.

          ‘Leave him alone!’ I ordered. ‘Let him carry me home.’

          “So Bear keeps on going but the last rise is really challenging and there’s a chance he won’t make it.

          ‘Go, on lad,’ I urge him, ‘you can do it.’

          “Then the others are doing the same.   They’re urging him by name and cheering. ‘Come on Bear, you can do it.’  Then Bear he rallies and makes the steps of the Keep and stands before the door. I slide off his back and there is one last look passes between us.

          ‘Good boy, Bear, you did it. You carried me home.’

          “Then Bear lay down by my side and closed his eyes for the last time. He died with his honour and he died content. My Bear had carried me home.

          The old man’s eyes filled with tears as he said softly.

          “Bury my heart at Ostagar, I’ll n’er take the field again.”

          And Scruffy gave a mournful howl.

**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

          “Time we turned in,” said Oswyn.   “We’ll be off again at first light.”

          As they were preparing their bedrolls, Ellas suddenly had an idea.

          “Keep it warm for me,” he said to Burren. “I need to find something,”

          He took his pack with his mother’s recipe book and his medicine kit and went in search of some particular herbs that he knew grew near water.   Then he ground them into a paste and added them into a flask of water, shaking the solution to thoroughly mix it, before pouring it into some vials. Then he went to where Oswyn was preparing for sleep.

          “Here, this won’t be a cure but it may ease things a little.” And he handed over the vials. “Take one each evening and it should last until the next.”

          Oswyn found the potion did seem to ease his aches and pains, enabling him to sleep more soundly than normal.   The following morning he was pleasantly surprised to discover the effects had lasted beyond the night, as Ellas had promised.   It wasn’t a cure but it deadened the discomfort somewhat and enabled him to straighten up and walk almost normally.   He went and found Ellas where he was eating breakfast with Burren.

            “Thank you; I much appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            “If I might ask, what’s in it?   Or is that a trade secret?”

            “I’ll give Burren the details and then you can arrange for supplies when you get back to your Keep.   I would suggest starting a herb garden so you can cultivate the plants for yourself rather than having to source them from the wild.”

            “I’ll do that.   Thank you again.”

            Oswyn walked back across camp.   Burren lightly kissed Ellas on the cheek.

            “Thank you from me as well.   I know how much he suffers.   It was a real kindness to have given him something that would help.”

            “My mother is the one you should thank.   I was only following her recipe.   Sadly she is no longer with us or it is possible she might have been able to come up with a cure.”

            “I doubt it; he really has tried everyone and everything he could think of.”

            When they were back on the road Oswyn beckoned Ellas over so they could ride side by side.

            “So what do you see as your purpose in life?” he asked.

             Ellas grinned. “I suppose you could say I’m on a one elf crusade to improve our image across Thedas. The Chantry claim we are demon worshipping heathens, far from the Maker’s love, unless we toe the party line. Most people either seem to see us as second grade punch bags or arrogant pricks, depending on whether they have met any Dalish or not.”

             “So you admit the Dalish are arrogant pricks.”

             “Not all of them. Take me for instance. Well I suppose technically I am only half Dalish and a juvenile one at that.   No vallaslin you see.   That’s a sort of rite of passage into being an adult. So I’m just a big kid really.   It also depends on the approach that people take. Now I find it irritating when some jumped up university scholar from Orlais thinks they know more about our history than we do.   Okay, so I’ll admit there are gaps in our lore.   You get them in the right mood and any Keeper would say as much as well but these university types poke about in a few ruins and then proceed to tell us how we’ve got it wrong or at the very least, the alternative interpretation you can put on it. It’s just another way of attacking our culture and putting us down.”

             “Do you never question the lore then?”

             Ellas laughed. “All the time; it’s why the Keeper and I never got on.   I did nothing but ask questions and got annoyed when my honest objections were just brushed aside.   There is a difference though between questioning something and telling someone outright that your version is the right one.   One encourages debate and helps you figure things out.   The other is just arrogant unless you can actually produce proof to back up your claim. It is particularly annoying when human scholars do this.”

            They rode for a few minutes in silence and then Ellas asked.

            “So what do you think about the Divine abolishing Circles?”

            “I was surpised,” Oswyn said cautiously, “but I trust to her divine inspiration in such matters.   It is not for me to pronounce on such issues.”

            “Too true,” nodded Ellas sagely. “After all, we wouldn’t want your faith undermined by such revelations, not to mention the expediency of avoiding giving her offence. I’ve heard she has ears everywhere.”

            Oswyn felt irritated by the implied criticism and responded dryly.

            “I would have thought that you of all people would be rejoicing in her wisdom.”

            “Oh, because I’m a mage you mean?”

            “Exactly; isn’t that what the rebellion was all about.   I imagine mages across the south must be celebrating at their success.”

            “I dare say they are, except those poor sods who are getting lynched by people not so enlightened as you, who prefer to stick to the way things have always been done.   Not that I blame them entirely for their attitude.   After all, mages _are_ scary when you’re not used to having them around the place and your only recent experience was of mages running riot and being made homeless by the conflict as a result.  Then there are the families and villages who simply can’t cope with having a young mage in their midst because they have no idea how to train them, so the mage runs a greater risk of falling prey to demons and the fears of those around them become a self-fulfilling prophesy.”

            “So you’re saying you’d rather _have_ the Circles back?”

            “Not like they were, so you go in and never come out.”

            “That is not strictly true.   Mages were allowed out if they could be trusted.”

            “Yes,” Ellas gave a mocking smile. “It’s funny how the offspring of nobles always seemed more trustworthy than those of commoners when it comes to special dispensations to leave the Circle.   Or alternatively those who have sucked up to nobles on those special high days and holidays when mages were allowed out in order to entertain the elite with displays of simple conjuring and enchantment.”

            “Your cynicism does you no credit.”

            “Yes, the problem is definitely with me isn’t it? Okay, let me tell you what my issue really is. For eight hundred years, give or take the odd decade, mages have been hauled off into Circles, in the majority of cases never seeing their families or much of the outside world again, and are repeatedly told it is the Maker’s will.   Then, all of a sudden, the Divine declares that it is now the Maker’s will that they are free to govern themselves and the Chantry will no longer be responsible for them.   So my question is; what changed?   Did the Maker realise he had made a mistake?   Did those earlier Chantry stalwarts misunderstand his will?   In which case, why did it take him so long to rectify the matter?   Meanwhile, up north, in the place that shall not be named, they have been under the impression that the Maker has a whole different perspective.     So were they right all along?   Or maybe the Maker himself wasn’t sure what to do for the best, so he inspired each half of Thedas to do the opposite of the other.   In other words we’ve just been part of a gigantic social experiment on his part.   Which is all very well but isn’t he meant to _know_ how things should be managed and didn’t he _tell_ Andraste his wisdom on such matters?”

            “Yes, everything he told her is in the Chant of Light.”

            “Are you sure about that?”

            “Of course.”

            “With or without the Canticle of Shartan? You do know the Divine has restored that to the Chant?”

            “Yes, I do. Well, that isn’t so much teaching as history.”

            “Oh so, we don’t have to worry about those bits and it’s okay if the Divine puts them in or takes them out on a whim?   Have you actually _read_ the Canticle of Shartan?”

            “Erm….”

            “Thought not,” Ellas gave a wry smile. “It makes for very interesting reading, particularly on how Andraste viewed Shartan.   Still you are probably wise in not troubling yourself.   After all, who knows how long the current Divine will last. The next Divine might remove it again and then it would have been wasted effort.   However, it does seem curious how easily the Divine can alter things to suit their own idea of the truth.   Makes me wonder if the Chant of Light we’ve got is the whole story or other bits have been missed out along the way. Not to mention the different ways that the faithful have interpreted that teaching.   I’ll leave you to ponder on that.”

            He started to turn his horse away.

            “Not so fast,” Oswyn called after him. “What about you?   What do you believe?”

            “Freedom, equality and justice for all, just as Shartan did, just as Andraste,” he called back. “That’s what they fought for, freedom, as friends and equal partners at the head of their respective followers, not prophet and disciple. It’s all in the Canticle of Shartan. Read it.”

            Jasce moved up alongside Oswyn, chuckling a little.

            “He’s not wrong you know.”

            “You heard then?”

            “Of course I did and it’s only what I’ve been saying since Ostagar.   Thankfully we now have a Divine who seems to agree with me.” He nodded towards Ellas. “And him.”

            Oswyn sighed. “I have to admit that it’s hard to know what to believe any more.”

            “Believe in the Maker, that is sufficient, and decide for yourself what you think his will is rather than look for guidance from elsewhere.   If you truly accept he hasn’t left us but wants to get in touch, you never know, maybe he will.”

            Oswyn glanced at him and raised his eyebrows. “I’ll take your word on that.”

            The rest of the morning was uneventful.   They stopped for lunch as on the previous day.  Ellas, Burran and Gerry sat together with Issala close by.  

            “I’m guessing that there is a reason Jasce wrote that rhyme for you, Gerry,” Ellas said with an enquiring look.

            “You’d be right,” Gerry said with a grin and a glance at Burren. “Will you tell him or shall I?”

            “Oh, don’t let me hog all the attention,” said Burren. “Go ahead.”

            “There used to be a Chantry Reverend Mother in Dragon’s Peak. She heard me singing.”

            “You sing too?

            “Yes, I like to sing with the birds.   Anyway she heard me and suggested that I would make a good Chantry sister. I said that there might be a problem seeing as I’m a man. She kept insisting that I was a woman and that I couldn’t possibly be in the ‘wrong’ body because that would imply the Maker had made a mistake.   So after I managed to get away from her I told Jasce.   Burren, tell him about the box.”

            “Some time before, Jasce had persuaded Oswyn that he should suggest to the Reverend Mother that she have a question box in the Chantry.   That way if anyone had questions about their religion they could pop it in the box and then she could answer them the next Holy Day.   That way everyone could hear the question and the answer, so she didn’t have to keep answering the same question several times over.”

            “Except the only person who ever put questions in the box was Jasce,” said Gerry with a snigger.

            “It was just a set up,” continued Burren, “so he could challenge her views on the religion of the Maker.   Of course word went round when he put a question in the box and the congregation grew the next Holy Day as everyone wanted to see the spectacle.   You’d think if she’d had half a brain she’d have spotted the connection.”

            “Except as Jasce always said, if she had half a brain she wouldn’t be in the Chantry,” Gerry laughed.   “So after my confrontation with the Reverend Mother, in goes another question into the box.   This one was ‘Is Gerry a man or a woman?’   The next Holy Day it was standing room only in the Chantry.   She reads out the question and gives her opinion. Then Jasce stands up and invites me to say my piece, which was the rhyme he wrote for me. After which he puts it to the vote by the congregation.   The vote was unanimously in favour of me being a man. Yet another victory by Jasce against the Chantry.”

            “It used to be such good entertainment,” said Burren. “But after the Gerry question, Oswyn said it had to stop.   So Jasce said he would after one more question.   It was the ultimate question to destroy her credibility in the village.   Can you guess what it might be?”

            “Is the Chantry really the religion of the Maker?” suggested Ellas.

            “Please, everyone already knew the answer to that of the months of cleric baiting. No, the nail in her coffin was: ‘Do mabari go to heaven?’”

            “Ah,” Ellas looked knowing. “Let me guess, the Reverend Mother answered in the negative.”

            “That’s right,” said Gerry.   “Then Jasce says that he wouldn’t want to go to heaven if Fang, Bear and Lop-ears weren’t there too but seeing as the Maker gave Bear the strength to carry him home, he knows that Bear will be waiting for him.   So if the cleric doesn’t think she will be seeing him in the next life, clearly she’s headed somewhere else.”

            “With that, he stalked out of the Chantry and the entire congregation bar Oswyn followed him,” finished Burren. “A few months later she was blown up at the Conclave and we haven’t had a cleric since.     I suppose if Oswyn had specifically requested it we might have got one but I think he realised it was better to leave things as they were.”

            “I’m confused,” Issala suddenly interjected. “Are you saying that Jasce believes in the Maker but not in the Chantry?”

            “That’s right,” answered Burren.

            “So how do you know which is true?”

            Burren shrugged. “The Ash Warriors were following the Maker long before the Chantry was invented by Drakon.   They come from Ferelden, just as Andraste did.   This country is the home of the faith, not Orlais.    As Jasce points out, Divine Victoria is a native of Ferelden.   When the Maker finally got a Ferelden on the Sunburst Throne the Chantry started to reflect the true faith.”

            “I heard that she has made many changes,” said Issala.   “Not everyone approves.”

            “She still managed to get her way, though,” said Burren.   “And survive several attempts on her life.   If that isn’t a clear indication some higher power is looking after her, I don’t know what is.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

          As Ellas was helping Burren to get ready to depart, the latter confided in him.

          "You know Jasce is as unconventional as we are when it comes to being an Ash Warrior, except for his faith in the Maker and rejection of the Chantry.   That is genuine Ash Warrior belief."

          "So what does he do differently?"

          "His attitude to other races for a start.   Regular Ash Warriors revere dwarves and despise elves.   Jasce likes to maintain it was meeting me that changed his outlook.   I may certainly have put paid to the idea that all dwarves are strong, fearsome warriors but his change of attitude didn't begin with me.   It was surviving Ostagar that did it or at least began him on his quest to understand the world better.   I think he attributes it to me because that way people can't say it was as a result of getting that blow on the head."

           "I presume they were."

          "Some, particularly those he criticised for their inaction when it came to protecting the common folk, and of course the Reverend Mother.   It was rumoured she was going to ask Divine Justinia to denounce him at the Conclave.   Whether she did or not we shall never know."

          Their conversation was halted by the call to get back on the road, which they did in short order. The entire group seemed to have established a pattern in carrying out their respective tasks and it boded well for when they were no longer under supervision after Brandyholme. Burren was even starting to express regrets that he wouldn’t be going with them. So they were in an entirely positive mood when they approached Brandyholme as evening drew on. It wasn’t to last.   As they entered the village, the mayor was waiting to greet them but the news he had to impart wasn’t good.

          “The local militia left for the south at midday with the Foresters you sent.”

          “What do you mean?” said Oswyn. “They were told to await me here.”

          “They would have done but then a fellow came running in yelling how his farmstead had been attacked and his family taken.”

          “By whom?”

          “The Dalish of course.”

          “What nonsense is this?” Ellas rode forward. “Where was this meant to have happened?”

          The mayor looked questioningly from him to Oswyn.

          “It’s okay,” Oswyn assured him. “Ellas is working for me.”

          “South-east of here, towards Eagle Ridge.”

          “There are no farmsteads out there,” asserted Ellas. “That’s deep forest where only the Dalish go.”

          “May be that wasn’t where they were attacked but he said that is where they were taken. Sounds about right from what you say.”

          Ellas frowned and shook his head. “There’s something wrong in all this.   We need to get after them before they do something stupid.”

          “We need to rest a few hours first,” said Jasce.

          “Then I’ll go on ahead.”

          “Don’t be a fool, laddie. They’ll likely lynch you.”

          “We’ll send a runner after them,” said Oswyn.   “I’ll tell them not to engage the enemy until you arrive with reinforcements. That should hold them until you get there with the rest of the recruits.”

          “We’d best have dinner immediately and turn in straight after so you can get an early start,” said Jasce.   He beckoned to the mayor. “Find people to help with our horses and show the troops where they can eat and bed down.”

          Ellas was agitated throughout the evening until they retired to bed and even Burren couldn’t calm him down.   Jasce was also troubled, though he tried not to show it.   He felt sure the lad was right; something was wrong about how things had developed. It was agreed they should be woken at dawn. When the party was making ready to leave Jasce surprised Oswyn by asking his leave to go with them.

          “I thought you’d retired from active combat.”

          “So did I but I think I’ve had a sign from the Maker.”

          Oswyn raised an eyebrow, thinking this had better be good.

          “I see the look on your face. You’re thinking it’s finally come. Old Jasce has lost his mind. I’d remind you though that they say Divine Victoria had a sign from the Maker, back when she was just a lass in Lothering Chantry, that made her seek out the Hero of Ferelden and fight alongside those two surviving Grey Wardens. Now I’ve spoken with King Alistair about this and he says it is perfectly true that she made that claim but the other Chantry sisters didn’t believe her. 'The Maker has left us', they said, 'he’d not give her a sign'; even though they claim Drakon had one, which was something of a contradiction.  

          “As you know from what I’ve told you, the Ash Warriors started to believe in the Maker not because of Andraste alone but also Gelgenig and we believe he had a vision of her where he was urged to complete her work because it had been left half done by her death. However, the difference between him and Drakon is that in his vision Andraste kept it localised. She wanted him to unite the tribes of Ferelden in the faith, and possibly as a side effect stop them warring as they were at the time. What she specifically did not ask him to do was to spread the faith across the world, much less say that when the Chant of Light was spread the Maker would return.   Because of course we never believe he left for those who have faith in him.   That to me seems a more genuine vision than Drakon’s which very conveniently reinforced his empire building aspirations.

          “So I tell you us Ash Warriors have never believed he would abandon us entirely and those who are worthy may still get his help.   However, he doesn’t do this willy nilly. We’d just get lazy and complaisant then, like them other nobles have, always looking to have him step in.   The Maker not intervening all the time is just the sort of god that suits us here in Ferelden where we are a pretty resilient lot and let us not forget that Andraste was Ferelden too, even if it wasn’t called that back then.   He knows that on the whole us Ash Warriors don’t need him to because we’re capable of looking after ourselves.”

          “Yes, we’ve had discussions about this before. What has this to do with your sign?”

          “I’m getting there. I’m just proving to you that when an Ash Warrior thinks he _has_ had a sign, he ought to take notice.   Last night I dreamed that Bear came to me." 

          “Bear came to you?” Oswyn looked skeptical. “Are you sure it wasn’t just because you had been recounting your story the night before?”

          “I didn’t dream about him that night did I? Here me out anyway. It was Bear all right but like he was in his prime, not all beat up like at the end and he has a sort of hallow of light around him. He walks up to me and looks me in the eye and he says: “Carry them home, Jasce, carry them home.”

          “Bear spoke to you?”

          "Yes, I know that’s a bit peculiar. Those mabari are intelligent but not that intelligent. Still I figure that if old Bear is with the Maker, then he’d probably be able to speak, because he doesn’t have to abide by the same rules as here. Anyway, there you have it. If you prefer to think of it as just a dream I had because I was reciting our tale earlier in the trip, all well and good, although that has never happened before, but I think it was a sign.”

          “A sign of what?”

          “Well if I knew that I wouldn’t have to go with them, would I?   Bear wouldn’t have come to me if it wasn’t important. Even if I was imagining it, I was starting to think I ought to go with them.   It’s more than a simple investigation now and there needs to be someone there that those foresters will listen to.   Issala might intimidate them but they could still ignore her.   They won’t ignore me. So I’m going, my lord, by your leave.”

          “As if you wouldn’t go anyway even if I didn’t give it,” Oswyn smiled. “Okay Jasce, you go with them.   It’ll do you good to take to the field again.”

          “Another thing, if Bear thinks it is that important, I think things might require a bit more than our current band.   So I think you ought to send for the knights guarding the road.”

          “Pull them back? That’s a bit drastic.”

          “Look we’ve been doing our bit. It’s about time the others took their turn.   Nobody with any sense is travelling the forest road anyway because once they get beyond our patch they’ll have to fend for themselves and don’t the bandits know it.”

          “Okay, Jasce, you’ve convinced me. I’ll use the horses to send post riders to the nearer outposts and ravens for the more distant ones.   If they start back straight away, they should be here by nightfall and could start south the next morning. Perhaps you ought to wait.”

          “No, if we don’t go straight away there’s no telling what those fools might get themselves into before we get there. I’m the last living Ash Warrior who served at Ostagar; they’ll listen to me. Just send them straight on after us once there’re here.”

          “Fair enough.”           

          “Oh, one other thing, take care of Scruffy for me.”

          Oswn smiled. “I knew there was a catch to this somewhere.”

          The puppy wined at the thought of being left behind.

          “Sorry lad, but you’ll only hold me back.   Next time may be. Look after our Lord.   Be his Aegis until I return.”

          The mabari gave a happy bark and went to Oswyn and lay by his side.

**  
**


	11. Chapter 11

            “Right,” Jasce addressed the recruits. “You should all be fully equipped by now with trail rations, a couple of healing draughts each and a canteen of water.   So we should be able to make good time, with a couple of short stops along the way.   All things being equal this means we should reach our destination by nightfall.   If you fall behind we won’t wait for you.   Just keep following on or return here, the choice is yours.   Let’s move out.”

            He led them at a jog in a south-easterly direction, following a rough forest trail.   Ellas moved up alongside.

            “I can take us by a quicker route if we really are headed for Eagle Ridge.”

            “We could miss the others and we don’t know precisely where they were headed.”

            “I do.   Whoever set this up; they wanted to throw them against the Dalish.   I know roughly where they should be, so if we overtake the others on the way, so much the better.”

            “Fair enough, lad, we’re in your hands.”

            Ellas led them swiftly along hidden trails, some of which even the Dalish did not know.   He wondered at how the elderly Ash Warrior kept pace with him so easily but though Jasce had never intended taking to the field again, he had kept himself in fighting condition as a matter of pride. The other recruits seemed to be coping well with the pace he was setting.     They stopped twice during the day for a brief meal, before setting off again.   As the afternoon wore on into evening Eagle Ridge came into view.

            “Not far now,” said Ellas. “We’d better slow a little and scout around for signs of life.”

            The party slowed to a walk and Ellas led them back to a more frequently used trail. As they stepped on to it, it was possible to discern wood smoke on the breeze.

            “Over there to the east,” said Ellas. “Someone has set a camp.”

            They followed the scent of smoke until a cry pulled them up short.

            “Stay back,” yelled a voice and an arrow struck the tree near Ellas.

            “Put up your weapons,” ordered Jasce. “By command of Jasce Wolfsbane.”

            “It is Jasce,” a second voice said in wonderment. “Sorry, my lord, we thought he was one of them”

            “I am one of them,” said Ellas, “which is why I’m helping Jasce stop you making a terrible mistake.”

            “Where are the rest?” asked Jasce.

            “Behind us, a quarter of a mile or so,” said the first man. “We’ve located the elves and have got them cornered against the base of the ridge but were awaiting your arrival before doing anything else, just as Bann Sighard ordered.”

            “Lead on then,” said Jasce,” and we’ll see what can be done to sort out this mess.”

            The two guards took them to the main encampment where around a fifty Foresters were gathered, including the local recruits that had been despatched south from Dragon’s Peak.

            “Who’s in charge here?” said Jasce.

            “I am,” said a tall muscle bound individual. “Landon Hellvelyn at your service.”

            “Right, so what’s the story behind this?”

            “A fellow came into Brandyholme dishevelled and weary, saying his family had been taken by the Dalish and if we hurried we might be able to catch up with them. So we set out as soon as we could muster enough men to take on a clan and found the Dalish just where he said.”

            “Where is this fellow?   I think we should question him,” said Ellas.

            “I agree,” said Jasce.

            Landon looked a little embarrassed.

            “He slipped away, my lord.”

            “Slipped away?”

            “Not long after we got here.   I assumed he had gone to try and locate his family.”

            “Very convenient,” said Jasce dryly. He raised his voice so all the camp could hear. “Right, let’s get it clear.   No one is to make a move until the lad here has had a chance to talk with his people. Understood?”

            He turned to Ellas.   “Over to you.”

            Ellas nodded and started to jog in the direction of the Dalish.   As he drew closer a voice called out in warning and an arrow hit the ground near his feet.

            “Come no closer, Shem.”

            “Who’re you calling, shem, Nethras?   It’s me, Ellas.”

            “You came with the shems, so you must be one of them.”

            “I came to try and sort out this mess.   Someone has been trying to frame the Dalish and we’re here to find out who and why. Where is Keeper Paven?”

            “He’s not back yet from the Arlathvhen, none of them are.”

            “Not back? That can’t be right.   Who is in charge then?”

            “The Firsts of the Clans.”

            “Clans?   You mean you’re all still here?”

            “Of course we are.   We can’t leave until the Keepers return.”

            Ellas felt very unsettled by the revelation.  

            “Is Ashelle there? I need to speak with her.”

            “Very well, come on then.”

            Ellas moved past the guards and on towards the main gathering of elves, accompanied by Nethras.   They were all girded for fighting, around five hundred of them.   Had they attacked the foresters it would have been a massacre.     A smaller group of around two dozen mages were gathered in conference. As Ellas approach, one of them, a young woman with fair hair and the vallaslin of Sylaise walked out to greet him.

            “Ellas, thank the Creators you have returned.   The situation is very grave.”

            “Don’t I know it, Ashelle.”

            He looked around the encampment.

            “Where are the children?”

            “When we saw the shems approaching we sent the families further back into a box canyon that could be more easily defended by a few hunters, until we knew what we were dealing with.”

            “That’s the only part I don’t know.   Human Foresters have been going missing and someone wanted them to believe that the Dalish were responsible.   Will you come back with me and assure them that you have had no part in it?”

            “Of course.”

            He led her back towards the Foresters’ encampment but before they reached it, arrows started to fly over their heads towards their destination.

            “We’re under attack,” one of the Foresters yelled. “That damned elf has betrayed us.”

            “No, I haven’t,” Ellas yelled back but a crossbow bolt flew past his cheek.   He grabbed Ashelle and pulled her to the ground, lying across her to shield her. “Stop firing.”

            “Stop firing on us,” yelled the Forester.

            “Jasce, are you there?”

            “I’m here laddie.”

            “The elves aren’t doing this.”

            “Put up your weapons,” Jasce ordered.

            Ellas rolled onto his back and looked beyond the elven encampment to the ridge above them.   He caught a glimpse of movement.

            “Stay down,” he said to Ashelle.

            He got up into a crouching position and then ran for cover on the Foresters’ side, looking for the recruits he had come with.

            “Issala, over here,” he yelled.

            She joined him.

            “There is someone or more probably a group up there on the ridge causing this trouble.   We need to put a stop to it but we also need at least one of them alive so we can find out what is going on.”

            Issala nodded. “I understand.”

            “Right, if you circle round to the left, the ridge is lower there and there should be a path you can follow.   I’ll go the opposite way and try and catch them between us.”

            He started to strip off his robes. Issala gave him a questioning look.

            “I never got the hang of turning clothes to fur and back again,” he explained. “I’m going to shapeshift now but I thought you ought to see me do it so you’ll know it’s me.”

            With that he transformed into an enormous snow leopard.    He waited just long enough to see the amazed look on Issala’s face before he set off through the undergrowth in the direction of the cliff face.   The climb would have been impossible for an elf but not for the leopard.   He lightly jumped from crag to crag, outcrop to outcrop until he reached the summit; then swiftly raced along the crest of the ridge listening for movement that would indicate one of the archers.  

            There were cries that would indicate that Issala had found at least some of them. The sound of running feet coming towards him was followed by an elf emerging from the trees, only to baulk at the sight of the big cat confronting him.  

            He started to back up, pulling a dagger from his belt as he did so but, with his attention thus engaged, he was not prepared for Issala when she emerged behind him and hit him over the head, dropping him unconscious.

            “That’s the last of them,” she informed Ellas. “The others are dead but this one can talk.”

            Then she hoisted him over her shoulder and started back along the ridge to the path down.   Ellas took the quicker route back down, changed back and redressed.   Then he went back to Ashelle, who was still lying as he had left her and helped her back to her feet.

            “We should have some answers soon.   Let’s get you back to the others.”

            No sooner had they reached the elven encampment than an elven hunter staggered into the gathering, covered in blood.   He was weeping and his breathing was laboured so that he could barely speak.   Ashelle swiftly cast a healing spell on him.   He was still clearly distressed but managed to convey his dire message.

            “The mammies, they killed the mammies and the babies and took the children.”

            “What are you saying, Fallon?” said Ellas.

            “They anticipated what we would do.   They were in the canyon ahead of us and took us from the rear.   They killed everyone they had no use for and took the children.”

            “Where?” asked Ellas.

            “I don’t know,” Fallon collapsed in tears.

            As word spread across the camp, the elves started to keen their distress.   Ashelle looked overcome with emotion and nearly collapsed.

            “No, no, no.   Why did they have to kill them?”

            Nethras gave a short bitter laugh. “Do you honestly think any good Dalish mother wouldn’t rather die than surrender her children?”

            “We’ll be wiped out.” Ashelle was weeping at the realisation.

            “Not if I can help it,” said Ellas quietly. Then he raised his voice.   “We came to help so let us do so.”

            “We need to start tracking them straight away,” objected Nethras.

            A rumble of thunder indicated that a storm was brewing.

            “It’ll take too long and rain may well wash out any tracks,” argued Ellas.   “We took a prisoner.   Come with me and we’ll get some answers.”

            Whilst the majority of the Firsts took a group of hunters to check for survivors, he led the rest of the elves towards the Forester camp.

            “Don’t shoot, we’re coming in.   We know what this was all in aid of now.   They were after the elven children.   Now we just need to find out who did this, why and where we can find them.   Where is he?”

            Issala nodded towards where the elf was being held by a couple of the Foresters.   He had a strange tattoo down the left hand side of his face, not vallaslin but something else.

            “He’s a Crow,” said Jasce. “That’s one of their marks.”

            “Any ideas?”

            Jasce shrugged. “Not really.   I assume you do.”

            Ellas nodded and continued on towards him.   The tattooed elf looked defiant as Ellas approached.

            “Do you worst, knife ear, you’ll never make me talk.”

             “He’s right, you know,” said one of the Foresters. “He’s a Crow. No one can break them.”

             “We’ll see about that,” said Ellas with an enigmatic smile.

             He removed a dagger from his belt and held it in his left hand.

             “Go ahead, I’m not afraid of you,” the man sneered.

             “Ma emma harel, Seth Lin” Ellas informed him quietly. “Last chance.”

            The man responded by spitting in his face.   Ellas barely flinched in response.   Instead Ellas closed his eyes, his voice intoning quietly.

             “Not for my own power, not for my own glory, not even for my own survival but only for the sake of others if nothing else will do, this do I promise.”

             His eyes re-opened and he fixed the eyes of the Crow with his gaze.   Then he slashed across his right palm and swiftly slammed it against the Crow’s forehead.   The elf struggled in the grasp of those either side of him but Ellas kept his hand firm.

             “Show me,” he said in an insistent voice that was barely more than a whisper.

             For a second there was a flicker of fear on the face of the Crow.

             “Show me,” Ellas’ voice was raised slightly in volume but lowered in tone.

             The elf stared to sweat and his face twitched.   His breathing was shallow and rapid.

             “Show me,” Ellas’ voice seemed more like a growl, feral and spine chilling.   His eyes were like chips of blue ice, terrifying in their intensity.

             The Crow screamed and his eyes became vacant.   Ellas continued to focus on him intently.

             “Where have you taken them?”

             “Smugglers’ Cove on the east side of the forest, just north of the lone isle.”

             The man spoke with difficulty as though under great strain.

             “Why have you taken them?”

             “A consignment on behalf of one of the merchant princes, a commission from a Magister of Tevinter; he particularly wanted elf children, for his experiments.   The others were used as a distraction and are to be sold to fund the venture.”

             “What is his name?”

             There was a pause as though the elf was trying to resist the compulsion.

            “What is his name?” Ellas repeated more insistently, with emphasis on every word.

             “Alfonso Valisti.”

             “And the Magister?”

             “Tarsian Procavia.”

             “How many will we be dealing with?”

             The elf was dripping with sweat by now and writhing under their hold but Ellas’ hand was firm against his forehead.

             “Five hundred, not all Crow assassins but the Prince's regular troops as well, plus the Magister and his two assistants.   More possibly when the ships get here.”

             “How long before the ships arrive?”

             “Two days.”

             “What is the name of Valisti’s flag ship?”

             The elf was panting and emitting a strange sort of whimper.

             “The name of his ship,” Ellas pressed.

             “Sea Witch, it is called the Sea Witch,” the man screamed.

             “Fen’Harel take you,” Ellas said in a cold whisper. “He’s all yours.” Abruptly he removed his hand, turned and walked away.

             Blood started to pour from the elf’s eyes, ears, nose and mouth.   Those of the company that had been holding on to him, loosened their grip and backed away.

             “What do you mean, he’s all ours?” one of them called after Ellas. “He’s dead.”

             Ellas turned back, a twisted smile on his face.

             “I wasn’t talking to you.”   He looked back to the bloody corpse.   “Still I concede that we should take no chance on his body being used by demons.”

             He brandished his staff and a wave of flame enveloped the corpse, burning it to ash.   There was silence in the company whilst it occurred but once it was over, their attention focussed on Ellas and he could discern the murmurs of disquiet growing among them.  

             “He broke a Crow,” one said in an awed whisper.

             “Blood magic,” said another fearfully and others repeated the phrase.

             “Yes, I used blood magic and make no apology for it. Now we know everything we need to know to stop them.   If you want me to leave, then say so, but you only have two days until they are beyond hope.   I can lead you by paths only the animals know and get you there ahead of time but I won’t have enemies at my back.

             He sent a challenging gaze across them all, both Foresters and elves, and stood defiant.

             “So speak your mind, are you with me or against me?”

             There was a brief silence as both the Foresters and the Dalish seemed too stunned and shocked to answer.

             Then Jasce stood forward: “I’m with you, laddie.   I don’t care what you done.   At least now there’s hope where there was none before.   The cause is just.” He looked to the Foresters. “I’m with you, all of you who’ve lost loved ones.”   He looked to the Dalish. “You are probably minded to head off after them without us but I ask you to reconsider.   You may think you are evenly matched with them but they’re Crows and they’ll fight dirty, using methods you’ve never encountered before and then there’s the Magister to consider. You think what Ellas did was bad.   That’ll be nothing to what that bastard can do.   I’m an Ash Warrior.   We have never acknowledged the Chantry and we offer our services not for money but for the sake of the just cause.   My Order was wiped out by treachery at Ostagar but by a miracle I survived.   Now I think I know why.  So to you in particular I make this promise, I’ll run ‘til I drop and I’ll fight ‘til I’m dead, but you’ll carry your children home.”

              The he drew his sword Yusaris that he first wielded in battle at River Dane and last wielded in battle at Ostagar, that had been lost that day and then restored to him, and held it on high, looking to the Foresters.

              “Are you with me?” And to a man the Foresters said   “Aye”.

              Then he turned to the elves. “Are you with me?”

              First to answer was Nethras, who said, “Aye”; then the others took up the call and it spread like a wave across the assembled company.

              Ellas turned to the elves but raised his voice that the Foresters could also hear.

              “Did you hear what the blood traitor said about the Magister who authorised this thing? He’s not safe up in Tevinter with other people doing his dirty work. He’s here directing it himself.  So not only do we get to rescue our loved ones but we’ve got the opportunity to stop him from ever doing this again. This will be Mien Harel. Leave not one of our enemies alive.”

              There was a roar of approval from the Dalish and a solitary. “Death to the Shems.”

              “Who said that?” Ellas said furious. “Shame on you; these people have suffered as well. They were used to get to us and the Magister still intends to sell their friends and relatives into slavery.   We’re stronger together as we were in the old days, before Drakon and his Chantry tore us apart and we look after our own; Andraste’s people and Shartan’s together again against the old enemy and all people who work with them. And let Fen’Harel feast on their souls.”

              He raised his staff in salute and encouragement to the elves. “For Shartan and Andraste.”

              Jasce repeated the gesture with his sword to the Foresters. “For Andraste and Shartan.”

              The answering roar of approval came from a united gathering of people.

**  
**


	12. Chapter 12

           There would still be at least a couple of hours to sundown and then longer still until nightfall, so it was agreed that they would take a brief rest and some food before using what daylight was left to progress their journey as far as possible. Jasce addressed the recruits from Denerim.

           “This isn’t your fight and this isn’t what you signed on for. If you want to pull out now and return to Brandyholme, I won’t think the worse of you for it and I’ll send word to Bann Sighard to pay you your dues, though naturally you won’t get your bonus.   However, you need to make your decision soon. I’ll be over there when you have your answer.”

           He pointed to the base of an old oak tree, walked to it and removed another portion of trail rations from his pack.   Shortly after Issala joined him.

           “It is an honourable cause,” she asserted and then with a wry smile, “plus I would welcome the chance to practice my skills against the Crows.”

           “I never doubted you would,” Jasce responded with a smile.

           Ashelle was asked by the other elves to make their concerns known to Ellas.

           “We know the need for speed but we don’t want to leave the dead for the wild beasts.”

           “I know, emma lath, but we can’t delay long enough to bury them.   Do you know the spell ‘decompose’?”

           She shook her head.

           “Come, take me to the others and I will explain it.   It will break down the bodies swiftly as though they were in the earth and then we can return later to plant trees where they lay.”

           Once he had told them of the spell, the others agreed it was the best they could do for their dead, given the circumstances.  He carefully explained the working of the spell to Ashelle and she prepared to leave for the canyon to teach the other mages so they could all perform the ceremony, promising to follow on as soon as they had finished.

           “May be you should stay here where it’s safe,” he suggested to Ashelle.

           “Trying to keep people safe is what got the others killed.   We’re safer when we stick together and besides if you don’t come back, what’s the point in staying safe?”

           “Okay,” he conceded with a sigh.

           He went to speak with Jasce, finding him still sitting under the oak, eating.

            “You need to eat too,” said Jasce. “No sense in stinting yourself and not having sufficient strength for the task ahead.”

            “Very well,” Ellas got out his rations. “Is there anything else we need?”

            Jasce looked thoughtful. “I need to get word back to Oswyn.   He was going to send his knights after us but if we can reach them before they leave Brandyholme it will save time as they can head straight for Smugglers’ Cove.”

            “I could do that,” said Ellas. “I could use a dream sending.”

            “What’s that?”

            “You send a message that the person will get when they sleep.   If I do it now then he will get it tonight.”

            “That will certainly be useful. Are you sure it will work?”

            “I’ve only ever sent messages to my father in the past but it ought to work so long as the person is known to me.   Still if you send a conventional message as well, then that can be a back-up should it fail or confirm the message is genuine if it is successful.”

            “You think he might have cause to doubt that?”

            “He’s been influenced by the Chantry, so he might think it is a demon messing with him.”

            “Then tell him that Jasce was right and Bear is in heaven. I don’t think any demon would think to say that.”

            Ellas laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

            “Very well,” he said. “Please keep anyone from disturbing me while I send it.”

            He closed his eyes and concentrated on his memory of Oswyn’s face.   Then he relayed his thoughts to him.   

******

            The knights started to arrive at sundown.   Oswyn greeted them as they came in and quickly informed them of the situation, urging them to take their rest ready for an early start south.   Finally he retired to bed himself.   Once he was asleep be began to dream.

            _“Do not be afeard. This isn’t blood magic.   Blood mages use dreams to harm people.   This is ancient magic; dream sending. The Keepers say that the old Dreamers used this to send messages to their friends and allies throughout the world.   Will you look at that; the Keeper spoke true!_

_Jasce told me to say to you that he was right and Bear is in heaven.   We thought that would prove that this message is genuine and not a demon speaking.   Good, so now we have got that straight, this is what you need to know………”_

******

            Burren had had a very pleasant time in Brandyholme in the period since the recruits had left.   He had visited the clothing store and purchased some very stylish forest wear just as Ellas had suggested.   Then he had been to the distillery and sampled some of vintage brandy that was kept there especially for honoured patrons.   On returning to the inn, he had enjoyed a hearty dinner of good local cuisine, washed down by some fine wine that the innkeeper had been only too happy to bring up from his cellar. Finally he had retired to his surprisingly luxurious bedroom, complete with four poster bed.   All he had needed to make his day complete would have been a sleeping companion.   Still, he contented himself with slightly risqué fantasies about Ellas whereby he imagined just how far one could push the physical restrictions his friend had placed on their relationship.   It was with these satisfying images in his mind that he had finally fallen asleep.

            He was awoken by a banging on his door.   Yawning, he shuffled to the door and unlocked it to find Gerry hopping from foot to foot, already fully clothed.

             “You’re to come at once.   Oswyn wants to send a message to the King.”

             Burren grabbed his dressing gown and followed Gerry to Oswyn’s bedroom. As he passed a window he noted that the first light of dawn was in the sky outside. He wondered what could be so urgent that Oswyn had woken him at this hour.

             Once taking dictation he quickly realised that Oswyn had received some sort of night time message from their friends in the south.   The news seemed dire and he began to understand why the king needed to be involved.   However, the end of the message had him feeling his own sense of dread as it became clear that Oswyn didn’t intend remaining in Brandyholme until the others returned, nor was he leaving for Dragon’s Peak.   Sure enough, after Gerry had raced off to despatch the message on one of his ravens, Oswyn confirmed his fears.

             “Get dressed at once.   We’re having an early breakfast and then riding out before sun up.”

 

  


	13. Chapter 13

            The alliance of Foresters and Dalish had made good time until nightfall.   Then slept until first light and continued their journey.   Ellas was as good as his word with regard to the route they would take once the Firsts had caught up with them.   It was clear that no one had used the paths he took them by but the wild creatures that inhabited the forest.   By sundown he judged that they could not be more than five miles from the coast.   It seemed a good place to stop and rest for the battle to come.    Any nearer and they might have been detected by scouts from the Crows put on watch.   Ellas sat with Jasce to eat his supper, although he was finding it hard to stomach food at this stage.   He thought that talking might relax him.

             “I didn’t thank you before for supporting me back there.”

             “Think nothing of it,” Jasce said with a warm smile. “That’s why I think the Maker sent me with you, because you would be needing me.”

             “The Maker sent you?”

             “Aye laddie, the Ash Warriors aren’t like those Chantry fools.   We know he never left us but he doesn’t intervene unless it is really necessary.”

             “But the blood magic?”

             “Andraste never condemned it.   That was an invention of their first Divine.   The Maker condemns the misuse of power and magic is very powerful in the wrong hands as well as the right ones.   That’s how I knew your oath was genuine.   It is just the sort of thing the Maker would do to ensure you did not abuse your gift.   Where did you learn it?”

             “My mother made me swear it to her on her death bed but she’d already done so with my father before she would marry him and then again with both of us before she would let him teach me the blood magic.”

             “Ah, so that’s where it came from.   Where did he learn it?”

             “From a Senior Enchanter when he was in the Circle. Ironic don’t’ you think?”

             Jasce chuckled and nodded. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that asserted.   So what became of him?”

             “A Templar killed him.”

             “I’m sorry to hear that.”

             “These things happen.” Ellas shrugged. “Then I killed the Templar.”

             “How long ago was that?”

             “Ten years.”

             “So you were only a child.   I’m guessing there is more to the tale but if it makes you uncomfortable…..”

             “No, I think you’ve earned a hearing and I can trust you with it.”

             He gazed into the distance as he recounted his tale.

             “On reaching my fifth birthday it was evident I had inherited my parent’s gifts; an early age and an indication that my power might outstrip them both eventually.   They set about teaching me how to utilise it in the best way and to protect myself from the demons who would exploit my connection to the Fade.   Da’ also taught me about the world beyond the forest and how few people you can really trust regardless of their race.

             “Templars, though, do not forget or forgive, not when you have killed those having the divine right of the Maker to hunt you down, not when you have brought another mage into the world during your freedom.     It seemed that one Templar in particular had made it his life’s work to bring Da’ to justice.   When Da' was at the Battle of Denerim someone must have recognised him and told this Templar, so be begun hunting us again.   This continued for the next few years until I was ten years old.

             "He had circulated a description among the villages on the edge of the forest, offering a substantial reward for information.   Mam had previously helped the villagers with their ailments in return for provisions that we could not acquire for ourselves in the forest. Eventually someone found the inducement of wealth too much to resist and they gave us away.   The Templar had learned from the fate of those previously and did not come alone.   Along with his fellow Templars, he also enlisted half a dozen of the local militia, nine enemies in all.

             “Mam was away when they located us.   She was helping a local farmer with his sick cow.     His boy came running to tell them that he had seen Templars heading into the forest.   Mam knew what that meant and left immediately but by the time she got back she was too late.     Da’ saw them coming too and told me to run and hide.   I did as he said and would have stayed hidden but then I heard him scream.

             “I raced back to find a scene of carnage. There was blood everywhere.   Two of the Templars were down and so were the militiamen.   I don’t know what magic he used exactly in the fight but I guess it had to be blood magic for there to be that much gore. He hadn’t broken his oath though. He didn’t do it to save himself but his wife and child.

             “The Templar who had hunted him all those years, was standing there with his sword thrust through Da’, twisting it, gloating at his suffering because he still wasn’t dead when I arrived.   They both saw the movement at the edge of the clearing and looked in my direction. I saw the look of despair on my father’s face because he thought he had failed to save us, the light went out of his eyes and then he died.

             “Then I heard Mam scream too.   She was standing on the far side of the clearing, a look of horror on her face, hands over her mouth.   And the Templar looked from me to her, weighing up his next move. He saw I was just a child and he judged that Mam was the greater threat. I saw him turn and walk towards her, knew he was going to kill her too and then he would come for me.   She just seemed paralysed with fear, immobile. He was going to kill my Mam as he had killed my Da’.   I was no threat to him.   Or so he thought.

             “I wasn’t going to let him harm my Mam. I ran to where my father lay.   I plunged my hands into his blood and I concentrated on the blood in the Templar’s veins with all my will.   Da’ had told me there was a special type of Templar, called a Seeker and they could set the lyrium aflame in a mage’s blood. Well Templars have lyrium in their blood too and I set it aflame. I know it shouldn’t have been possible for a child of that age and don’t ask me how I did it. May be it was simply that I wanted it so much, to save my mother from him. Too late he realised his mistake and he turned back briefly towards me.   I saw the look of horror on his face and he saw the look of triumph on mine. And then he didn’t have a face any more.   It… just…. melted.

             “There amid all that blood and gore and death, I stood and I laughed because I had saved my mother from him and he would never hunt us again.   Then I looked down at my Da’ and his broken body and I started to weep.   Mam reached me and she was weeping too. We held each other close and we wept together in that clearing in the forest that was blackened and burnt, devoid of all life but our own and where nothing would ever grow again.”

             Ellas returned his consciousness to the present, the tears flowing down his face at the memory.   He looked across at Jasce and the old warrior reached out a comforting hand, squeezing his arm.

             “Thank you for telling me.   Be at peace.”


	14. Chapter 14

            After they had finished supper, Ellas went to find Issala.

            “Do you know anything about making potions?”

            “I have some knowledge of poisons and their antidotes.”

            “Crow?”

            “Well I spent some time in Antiva, so I assume the poisons I encountered there may have been theirs.   I also know Qunari poisons and they are very potent.   So the antidotes may work against Crow poisons as well.”

            “Here, take my mother’s recipe book as well.” He handed it over. “There are things I need to do tonight so I can’t spend time on making up antidotes but I wondered if you would for me.   You’ll find spare vials in my pack.”

            “I will get everyone making them.”

            “Thank you.”

            Then he went to where Jasce was checking through his gear, making sure it was in good order.   He had removed his wet stone from his pack and had begun sharpening the edge of his sword.  

            “I wish old Bear was still with me,” he reflected.   “He’d chew up that Magister in double quick time.”

            “Well, I might not be able to carry you for two hundred miles on my back but I’d be willing to try and make up the deficit if you’d let me.”

            “Meaning?”

            “My other little trick that you didn’t see back there.   I’m a shapeshifter.   Not a mabari but a snow leopard.   In fact, if you’d be so good as to look after my clothes for me, I need to change now.”

            “What for, we won’t be fighting until morning?”

            “That Crow said there might be more people on the ships and they must be getting close.   I think I need to buy us some more time.   Don’t worry; I’ll be back before morning.”

            With that, he removed his robe and transformed into the snow leopard before racing out of the camp.   The leopard form was more practical for getting him to the coast quickly and undetected.   His own senses were much more acute in his transformed state as though he had done more than simply change his outward appearance.   He had no idea why this should be and it was just another question he would have for the Shady Lady should he ever encounter her again, together with how she managed to transform her clothes along with everything else.

            He easily avoided the sentries, whilst at the same time being able to note exactly where they were, before racing along the cliff face that circled the cove where their enemies had set up their base.     To the south side of this were caves that he guessed were where the prisoners were being held.   He aimed for the north where the headland jutted far out to sea.   There was no one here but himself.   Taking himself just over the ridge so he would not be spotted from the cove, he looked out over the sea.   There, by the light of the moon, he could clearly see a small flotilla of three large cargo vessels with a slightly smaller frigate leading their convoy.   He was just in time to take action before they came close enough to shore to shelter from adverse weather.

            He transformed back into human form, closed his eyes and started to visualise a great storm in his mind, with a whirling vortex of wind that whipped up the waves into mountainous walls of water that would engulf everything in their path.   He reopened his eyes as he felt the first breeze waft against his skin; then stronger gusts that buffeted him and caused the sea below him to froth and churn.  

            He changed back into his leopard form and mounted the ridge once more, looking to the south.   The sky had turned a deeper black as storm clouds blotted out moon and stars.   The wind was strong enough now that he had to fight to stay on his feet and he could see a great wave building momentum as it raced northward directly into the path of the ships.     He could stay on the headland no longer.  

            As he ran back inland he noticed the people in the cove running to grab loose equipment and tie it down or carry it to shelter.   They would likely have a sleepless night, which was all to the good so far as he was concerned.   He knew the prisoners would be safe enough as the caves were above the waterline and on the leeward side of the cove.  He found a sheltered spot where he could curl up and sleep out the night.  

            He awoke at first light and ran back to the headland.   There was no sign of the ships.   Satisfied that the threat had been removed, at least temporarily, he raced back for the camp of his allies.

            The snow leopard padded to the side of Jasce and then Ellas transformed back into elven form. He quickly donned his robe, although he knew it wouldn’t be for long but he didn’t want to create a distraction with a lack of clothes.

            “Okay said Jasce there’ll be no rousing speech or battle cry because the element of surprise is everything.   We don’t know what we’re up against…”

            “Yes, we do,” said Ellas. “There’s five hundred Crows and their auxiliaries give or take the few we’ve had already. The assassins among them will use poison.”

            “And we have prepared ourselves,” said Issala, handing back his recipe book.   “Everyone has at least one vial of antidote to use.”

            Ellas nodded his appreciation of their efforts.

            “The chief problem is going to be the Tevinter blood mages. The bastard himself behind the operation and his two apprentices, but don’t let that name fool you, they’re going to be bad, real bad.   Each one will be worth a dozen men, the top man even more, if they start controlling the battle field, so we need to take them down quickly.   That means that although it looks as though we’ve superior numbers that makes us just about even.”

            “Particularly,” said Jasce, “since we need to free up some of our best soldiers to seek out and protect the prisoners. There’s every chance if they start to get desperate they might seek to harm them. This will all be for nothing if they succeed. I’m thinking you’ll be best suited to head up that team, Issala.”

            “I think they are holding them in caves on the south side of the cove,” said Ellas.   He drew a rough sketch on the ground.   “There used to be a back entrance which they may not have found.   If they haven’t then you will be able to sneak in and surprise them.   Even if they do know about it, they won’t be expecting anyone else to.”

            “Very good,” Issala nodded.   “I should make a start with my team now.   What about advanced sentries?”  

            “About a half mile out from the encampment but concentrated more to the middle so if you take a wide sweep and come in from the south, you may miss them entirely, unless of course they have found the back entrance as you will likely find some there.”

            “Choose your men and be on your ways then,” said Jasce.   Quietly now and wait for my signal before engaging the enemy.”

            “Which will be?”

            “When they realise we are there.   There should be a lot of noise and that will provide you with the opening you need.”

            He returned his attention to the main company.

            “Next we need a distraction.    I was hoping you Dalish mages would be willing to provide that. Circle round on the northern flank and give it all you’ve got, don’t hold back; only remember we don’t want you harming us.   I’m also reliably informed that if you want something enough and really believe, you can achieve just about anything, so if you suddenly find yourself doing something you never thought you could do, don’t pay it no mind, go with the flow and just keep hitting them. Keep them pinned down and focussed on you, to give Ellas and me a chance of getting close to the Magister.   So sneak in as close as you can, pick your target and when you hear the signal take it away. Take some of your own scouts with you to clear you a way through their sentries.”

           “What about me,” said Ashelle. “She looked very slight and small surrounded by the warriors.”

           “She’s a healer,” said Ellas. “A good one,” he smiled at her. “Just keep on patching us up and stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, because we’re going to need that healing.” He dropped his face close to her ear so only she could hear. “And don’t be afraid to call on the spirits.”

           “Right, time to get into position,” said Jasce, “the sun is rising. They’ve had a rough night weather-wise so may still be licking their wounds but don’t get complaisant. Let our own trackers go first to check out the way. And remember everyone you need to pace yourself and not let your emotions get the better of you or you’ll burn out too quickly and get yourself killed.   Especially don’t give way to fear or you’re done with. Focus on those you love, that you’re fighting for and those bastard Magisters won’t be able to touch you. There’s a reason they never tried to conquer the dwarves and to my mind it has nothing to do with not wanting to upset the lyrium trade.   It would flow that much faster using slaves.   No, the reason the Magisters didn’t attempt it is because they knew their tricks wouldn’t do them any good against the dwarven battle rage.   So keep your anger uppermost in your minds but control it and let it come out gradually.   Then your minds will be protected from their spells and you’ll last through to the end of the fight.”

            He gave a knowing smile.

            “As for the Crows, I know they’ve got a reputation and it is said no one invades Antiva because of the Crows. Well from this day forth they are going to know, ‘Don’t Fuck with Ferelden’. Let’s go.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

           Burren had not enjoyed the last twenty four hours. He had begun to wish that Ellas hadn’t given Oswyn the healing potion that eased the discomfort he felt and increased his ability to participate in normal activities.   Then he chastised himself for such selfish thoughts. After which he acknowledged that even without the succour of the potion, Bann Sighard would probably still have undertaken the ride with his knights.   That had always been the beauty of the horses; they gave him the opportunity to forget he was a cripple whenever he rode them.   As a consequence he had spent many days away from the Keep exploring the forest on horseback and knew the best paths through it for a rider, which is why he had elected to lead his knights so they would be able to travel by the swiftest route to the eastern coast.  

           Unfortunately for Burren it seemed that Oswyn also wanted the ability to contact the king at all times. Thus it was that he found himself back in his basket seat, with Scruffy in front of him, being led by Gerry at a disturbingly fast trot behind the main body of riders.   It was impossible to enjoy the scenery as he was too invested in clinging on to the sides of the basket and wondering how many bounces it would take for him to bring his breakfast back up.

           The other disturbing part of the enterprise was that he understood they were heading into a conflict.   He assumed that he would not be required to participate and only report the outcome to the king but he would have appreciated some assurance on that.  

           When they stopped for a brief repast break he discovered that trail rations were not particularly appetising and to his mind their only advantage lay in the fact that they were unlikely to be regurgitated.     To make matters worse, Scruffy broke into his pack while he was away relieving himself behind a bush, which meant that the remainder of his rations had either been devoured or rendered inedible by mabari drool.   Gerry was kind enough to offer some of his own at the next stop but that only slightly lifted Burren’s mood.

           The only bright aspect of the sojourn through the forest was that his new clothes were eminently suited to the activity.   This meant he looked the part of a capable Forester even if in reality he fell somewhat short of the role.   Nevertheless, when they finally stopped for the night, he did his best to pull his weight, remembering what he had seen Jasce and Ellas do with the pony at the end of the ride and dealing with Scruffy.

           He was woken at dawn by Gerry and after a brief breakfast of shared rations, they were on the trail again.   As he bounced along on the pony, he wondered how much further it would be. 

******

            The sentries had been dealt with and the various groups were in their positions. Ellas placed his pack, staff and clothes under a bush.   If he needed to undertake spells during the battle he would have to do so naked but for the most part he intended fighting in his snow leopard form.   He took his place at Jasce’s side.  

            “Any thoughts on how you want me to play this?”

             “With a mabari they usually run just in front either charging down the enemy or intimidating them enough that they’ll be wrong footed when I follow through.”

             Ellas nodded.   “I can’t speak when I’m a leopard but I can understand what you say.”

             “A bit like a mabari then.   Do I still call you Ellas?”

             “I call myself the King of the Mountain but Ellas will do.”

             “Okay, let’s go then.”

             Ellas transformed and then set off at a run to engage the enemy. 

******

            Issala had taken a group of thirty with her. They avoided the sentries and reached the place where Ellas had indicated a hidden entrance to the caves.   Sure enough it was there and there seemed no sign that the Crows had discovered it. Carefully, they made their way down into the depths, finding their way by feel rather than risk discovery by using a torch.   Before long there was a glimmer of light in front of them that helped them find their way forward.   They emerged to the rear of some holding pens.   Those Crows in the caves seemed to have just fed the captives and were starting to make their way back to the entrance.   Issala led her people forwards stealthily, indicating to the captives to keep silent.   A surge of noise and a cry of warning from outside the cave indicated that the attack had begun.   Quickly, Issala and her companions surged forward and dealt with the Crows at the entrance.   It was narrow enough that they could make their stand there.

             “Whatever happens, you hold the line,” she instructed them.   “I’ll stand forwards and engage them as they come.   If they should get past me, then you deal with them but you don’t break formation.   If I fall, leave me.   You hold the line.   Understood?”

             They nodded and formed up in battle stance.   Issala hefted her glaive and stood ready, watching and listening.

******

            The distraction was working well and the enemy mages focussed their attention on them, allowing Jasce and Ellas to pinpoint their position. The main encampment of their enemies was in the wide valley between the headlands leading to the cove and the Magister was occupying an area of higher ground towards the far end.  

            Trusting to their allies to keep to the plan and focus on thinning out the Crows, they fought their way forward.   Ellas was effective in clearing a path with paws and teeth, too quick and agile for the Crows to come up with an effective counter to his attack.   Those he didn’t instantly fell were dealt with by Jasce.

            As they neared the Magister’s position it became apparent there were only two mages there.   One of the assistants was clearly somewhere else. 

******

            Issala spied a group descending the path from the valley and heading for the caves. One of them was wearing flowing robes and carried a staff. She smiled at the prospect of challenging a Tevinter mage.

             “Remember, you must hold the line,” she reminded her companions.

             Then she started forward marking the area as her own.   When the mage saw her, she detected the moment of fear and doubt in his face.   He had not expected to find a Qunari confronting him.   As his companions started towards her, he kept one back and cast his spell using their lifeforce. It was as she had hoped; he used blood wound, causing her blood to boil with excruciating pain.   Except that for a Reaver, pain is your ally. The spell which should have weakened her ready for when the Crows reached her, instead transformed her into a killing frenzy.   She raced forward slashing through the first of them with her glaive, spinning it in her hands to take another shortly after.   With each strike her wounds were healed and her battle frenzy increased.

             Too late the mage realised the unstoppable force that was before him.   She saw him prepare another spell and threw the glaive directly at him, running him through, before arming herself with twin swords and continuing the fight at close quarters. 

******

             As Jasce and Ellas had feared, even with their carefully laid plans the Tevinter mages were starting to control the battlefield and their enemies were too concentrated around them for the two of them to break through.  Whilst it would appear their allies had been able to resist the compulsion of blood slave, blood wound and haemorrhage were thinning the ranks of their allies, together with normal spells such as walking bomb, paralyse and death hex, even though the Magister’s own forces occasionally suffered from friendly fire as a result.   The Dalish mages were doing their part in creating their own confusion and suffering in their enemies but it was not going to be enough and it seemed likely their forces would be overwhelmed.

            Then there came a cry of warning from the western end of the valley and there was the sound of thundering hooves.   Oswyn had arrived with his knights. 

******

            “You two stay here,” Oswyn ordered as the cavalry emerged from the forest and were confronted by the battlefield, before leading his knights away in a charge.

            Burren was never so glad to receive such a direct order.   Gerry leapt from his pony and held on tightly to the reins of all three in case they should seek to follow the rest but he need not have worried.   The ponies seemed to share Burren’s distaste for participating in the fight and immediately slowed to a halt. One by one they dropped their heads to graze.

            “What do we do now?” asked Burren.

            “Carry on as normal,” shrugged Gerry and started to remove the cage with the ravens from the back of the pony. “Can you get down on your own or do you want me to help you?”

            “That’s okay, I’ll manage, thank you.”

            Actually Burren was in no hurry to dismount the pony.   Not only would he be in a better position to retreat should the need arise if he stayed on board but it was also a good vantage point for watching the battle.   He loosened the belt holding him on and surveyed the progress of his allies.

            Despite the fact that she had never been intended to be a fully-fledged warhorse, it was clear that Oswyn must have trained Honey in battle manoeuvers.    She was attacking with her teeth and front hooves, leaping in the air and striking out with her hind quarters and then spinning rapidly on the spot when the enemy tried to surround and unhorse her rider.   As such Oswyn and his mare were proving to be an effective weapon on their own, even though he could wield a sword in his left hand if needed.   The other knights were running down Crows and preventing them taking advantage of the incapacity of some of their own forces. Their arrival did seem to have been very timely to turning the tide of battle.

            Looking across the valley, Burren caught sight of Jasce and saw him use the distraction to his advantage with the aid of an enormous snow leopard.   He was just wondering where Jasce had found such a creature when a happy bark nearer to hand drew his attention to an altogether more disturbing realisation.   Oswyn had only ordered the ‘two’ of them to stay where they were and Scruffy would have assumed therefore that no such stricture applied to him. At the very moment that Burren had located Jasce, so had the puppy; too late Burren remembered to restrain him.   He turned to see Scruffy launch himself from the pony’s back and land running, heading straight into the teeth of the battle.

            “Scruffy, no, come back!”

            The puppy was headless of his entreaty.   All he could think about was reaching his master on the far side of the battlefield.   As for Burren, all he could think was.

            “ _If anything happens to that puppy, Jasce will kill me._ ”

            Leaping down from the back of the pony with agility he had never shown previously, Burren set off in pursuit.   Scruffy seemed to have a charmed existence.   Somehow the path would miraculously clear as he moved forward, only to return to a seething mass of death as Burren followed. At least that is how it seemed to him.   He was forced to duck beneath blades, throw himself on the ground at the approach of a horse (trusting to the advice he had been given that it would not intentionally trample him) and feel the hooves whoosh as the animal lifted over him, weave back and forth between the assailants, whilst the puppy continued to have a clear run.

            Nevertheless, he was gaining on him.   Whilst he had never kept himself intentionally fit, Burren’s vanity had ensured he had kept his body in trim condition.   Somehow the traditional dwarven attributes of stamina and dour determination managed to rise to his aid, even though he had previously always steadfastly tried to deny them. Scruffy, for all his enthusiasm, was nevertheless still a young creature and after his initially surge of energy, he had little in reserve.   As they neared the mound with Jasce, he started to flag.

            Burren realised how imperative it was that Jasce should not be distracted from the main task at hand.   He pushed himself to a final burst of speed, probably the nearest he would ever come to replicating the effects of a dwarven battle rage and made a diving tackle of the puppy half way up the slope.

            “Got you,” he declared. “Now you stay here with me where I can protect you.”

            They seemed somewhat empty words as he said them.   Quite what he was going to be able to do with no weapons and no fighting expertise even if he had them was something he decided to ignore.   He just needed to convince Scruffy not to struggle free again as he doubted he could rouse himself to such a level of activity a second time.   Scruffy, though, immediately stopped struggling at his words and gave him an affectionate lick, almost as if he were saying ‘I always knew you cared really.’   Burren tried not to cringe at the slobber in case Scruffy should change his mind and held the puppy close, hoping the pair of them would escape the notice of the rest of the inhabitants of the battlefield, in particularly those involved in the main confrontation at the top of the mound which Burren could clearly see and followed with terrified but rapt attention.


	16. Chapter 16

            The arrival of the cavalry gave Jasce and Ellas just the distraction they needed.   In the brief elapse of time from the realisation there was a new player on the field of battle until the attention of their enemies was re-focussed on their immediate foe, the pair of them managed to force a way through the milling throng of Crows and reach the Magister.   The leopard battered him with his paws, stopping him mid casting and Jasce was able to run him through with his sword.   It was done in an instant and yet something told Ellas it had been too easy.   A wave of energy hitting them both from the side revealed that the Magister had effected his own deception.   The person who had seemed to be directing the battle had in fact clearly been one of his assistants. Now both had laid themselves open to the wrath of the true mage lord.

            The Magister hit the leopard with a crushing prison spell.   Ellas suddenly found he was hardly able to breathe as the life was crushed out of him.   In the hope of reducing the effects if not actually nullify them, he transformed back into his human form.   It did indeed give him a brief reprieve but he lay winded and momentarily unable to move. Meanwhile Jasce had been afflicted with a double assault. First the Magister had cast a curse of mortality spell to inflict penetrating damage and prevent any form of recovery or healing; then followed it up immediately with haemorrhage, thus amplifying the effects of the first spell and adding to them. The old warrior’s constitution was not sufficient to withstand it and his rage has expired with his previous victim. He was failing fast.

            Jasce swayed on his feet and Ellas rallied enough to catch him as he fell.   The magister looked on with a sneer on his face and then he turned away to focus his attention elsewhere, looking in particular in the direction of Oswyn on his golden mare. Ellas searched Jasce’s belt and found a knife.   Jasce noticed the movement.

            “Don’t do it lad,” Jasce said weakly.

            “But there’s no other way to take him down.”

            “I meant there’s nothing in that oath of yours that says it has to be your blood.”

            “But I’ll kill you.”

            Jasce gave a smile. “That’s no matter.  Better me than you. Go ahead, help me fulfil my vow, and take the bastard down.”

            So Ellas placed his hand in Jasce’s blood and he saw the Magister jerk and turn back as he felt the spell upon him, saw the look of growing horror as realisation dawned on the man what was happening and he saw the smile of satisfaction on Ellas’ face.

            “Bet you never saw that coming did yeh?” He taunted him. “So much lyrium in that old pure Tevinter blood it almost makes me feel sorry for you.” He paused. “Just kidding yeh.   Fen-Harel take you.”

            The Magister erupted in a blue white flame, enveloping his entire body and his face started to slowly melt away as the flame rose heavenwards.   From within it there came a sound, a pure note of song that grew steadily louder and was both beautiful and terrible at the same time.   Until finally the Magister was utterly consumed, the fire extinguished and the song ended.

             “Do you think that was the voice of the Maker?” asked Ellas of Jasce but then looked down and saw that he would not be able to answer him.  He hugged Jasce to him and started to weep and that is how they found them when the knights had finished routing the field.   Steadily a silence fell as the word spread and then people realised the sacrifice that had been made.   There was no cheer of victory yet, due homage had to be paid to the fallen.

             Then Oswyn dismounted from his mare and fell to his knees reverently looking in the direction of the two figures and his knights did the same. All across the battlefield their gesture was copied as people honoured the old Ash Warrior who had kept his promise.

             Then Ellas looked up and saw Ashelle standing a little way off, solitary and alone, uncertain what to do. He called her name and beckoned her to him. 

             “It’s worth a try, so long as the spirit hasn’t yet left him. Use the magic of the spirits on him.”

             “I don’t think it will do any good, I’m not that strong.”

             “You don’t know until you try.”

             He lowered Jasce to the ground and held out his hands.   “Here take mine and I’ll give you strength.”

             So she knelt on the other side of Jasce and he took her hands in his, placing hers down first onto Jasce’s chest.

             “Now call them, my love, call the spirits and let’s see what they can do.”

             She did as he asked and slowly a halo of white light formed around her and travelled down through her hands into Jasce, whilst Ellas’ eyes glowed blue.

 ******

             Jasce saw Bear lobbing towards him, his tail wagging eagerly. He was glad he wasn’t wrong and mabari do go to heaven the same as everyone else. Then Bear licked his face and sat back on his haunches.

             “It’s good to see you again, lad,” said Jasce.

             “Same here,” said Bear. “The thing is they wanted me to come and tell you that it’s not your time yet. They feel you may still be needed. There was a lot of talk I didn’t quite understand, something about enjoying the fruits of your labour and special dispensation. What does that mean?”

             “It means, lad that they’re going to bend the rules.”

             “Oh, I see. Well I suppose I’d best be getting back then, as had you.   I’ll be waiting when they finally call you home.”

             “See you then, Bear.”

******

             Ellas and Ashelle felt something jerk under their hands and Jasce’s chest gave a heave; then his eyes opened and he smiled up at them.   They looked into each other’s eyes and did the same.

             “You did it, Ashelle,” Ellas said in wonderment. “You brought him back.”

             Then Ellas’ leapt to his feet and punched a hand in the air.

             “He’s alive!”

             The word ran like a ripple across the across the field.

             “He’s alive!”

             Now they could start to celebrate.   People were jumping up and down and laughing with joy and sheer relief.   The horses neighed and their riders cheered. Up the mound an enthusiastic mabari puppy bound, followed by Burren looking more dishevelled than he had ever been before in his life, covered in dirt and with a smile on his face. Jasce sat up as Scruffy lauched himself into his arms and licked his face furiously, whilst Ellas and Ashelle hugged one another. Burren stood quietly off to one side looking somewhat crestfallen and self-conscious, until Ellas looked up and beckoned him over and then the three of them hugged together.

             Then came the sound of children calling and they were racing across the field to their parents, who gathered them into their arms and cried with joy and relief.   The villagers followed on shortly after and were greeted by their own in similar fashion and finally, much to everyone’s surprise and elven gladness, the missing Keepers appeared, looking worn and weary but nevertheless had survived. All save one.

              “Where is Keeper Paven?” asked Ashelle.

              “He won’t be coming back,” Ellas informed her gently. “You’re the Keeper now.”

              Finally Issala limped into view with what was left of her troops. They were battered and bruised and had suffered losses but they had stood firm in the protection of the prisoners and had held the line.


	17. Chapter 17

            Oswyn sent a message to the king announcing their success in defeating the Magister and his Crow allies.   Then they gathered the dead and burned them, their allies with due reverence and respect.     By then it was evening and everyone was glad of an early night to recover their strength.

             The following morning the various groups started to depart for their respective homes.   Ellas left a written message with Burren to give to Oswyn after he had left with the Dalish.   They were going to travel back to the canyon to plant trees over the graves of their loved ones.   After that Oswyn had invited them to return north and his protection.   He also promised to have words with the king about giving them a permanent sanctuary of their own.

             Jasce had also suggested that some of their warriors might like to receive training in the skills of the Ash Warriors with a view to restoring the Emerald Knights, only this time with mabari hounds as their companions instead of wolves.   The Keepers seemed happy to consider the proposal, particularly in view of some disturbing revelations they had received at the Arlathvhen from former Inquisitor Lavellan.   All hoped that a new understanding between the races had been forged by recent events and they would work together for a better future for all.

             After the planting of the trees, Ellas took the opportunity for some private time with Ashelle.

             “The others say that Keeper Paven was taken from them.” asked Ashelle. “Are you sure he is dead?”

             “Yes, I know he is,” Ellas replied.

             “And was it he who….” Her voice faltered.

             Ellas looked her in the eyes.

             “You know he would never betray his people,” adding the word ‘willingly’ in his mind.

             The lie came easier to him than the truth and in any case when you were subject to blood magic, the victim had no chance to resist, he had proven that. It was never a true betrayal.

             “Stay with us, Ellas,” said Ashelle, “we need you.”

             “No you don’t. You’ll be a far better Keeper than I could ever have been.”

             “I need you.” A single tear glistened at the edge of her eye and trickled down her cheek.

             “Hush,” he said gently, placed his right hand over her lips and wiped away her tear with the other. “You think that now but you know as well as me that I cannot stay. I’ve known it would end this way ever since I first used the magic. Our people condemn it just as much as the Chantry. They would shun our clan and they would shun you, whilst the Templars would hunt you all down as they would me. I would not bring our clan into danger and I won’t have you live as my mother lived.   The price is mine to bear alone. Stay here, lead our clan and find another man to be your husband. Don’t stint him on your love, I think you have a big enough heart to have love in it for two, and raise many happy children.   That is how you can show your love for me. Agreed?”

             For a second she just stood there breathing heavily; then she gave a great sigh and nodded.

             "Agreed,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

             “Ma Serannas. Now close your eyes.”

             She did as he requested and she felt a gentle kiss on her forehead.   When she opened them again, he was gone.

             "Ma’arlath, Ellas. Dareth shiral.”

             Then she picked up her staff from where she had left it and returned to her people. 

******

             The majority of the recruits from Denerim had stayed to the end and survived.   Oswyn paid them off generously as promised once he had returned with them to Brandyholme. Last to leave was Issala.

             “You don’t have to go,” said Oswyn. “I can always use good people and you’re the best.”

             “My thanks,” she responded with a gracious smile. “But my time in the south is done.   Since you have been so fair with me, it is only right that I am honest with you.   These past ten years I have been on a journey of enlightenment, studying the societies of Thedas as Koslun once did, not for the sake of conquest but to see whether there are lessons to be learned.   Now I must return to report my findings, to the Arishok himself.   I will be Tal-Vashoth no longer.”

             “I see.   Do you feel there has been anything the Qun could learn from what you have experienced?”

             “The Arishok already had reason to consider whether this was the case from his own time in the south. That is why he was willing to humour a female who wished to be a fighter, trained me himself instead of making me accept the will of the Tamassrans and then sent me on my mission, to see whether I would draw similar conclusions to his own; in particular to discover whether the honour and merit he found in Ferelden was replicated elsewhere.”

             “And were they?”

             “No one society is perfect but Ferelden has more elements to admire than most. It seems no coincidence to me that every Basalit-an up to now has had their origins in Ferelden.”

             “I wish you well. Our venture would not have been so successful without you.   The horse is yours, you deserve her.”

             “I appreciate the sentiment but I’m told that horses do not travel well by sea and besides in the Qun there is no concept of personal ownership.   Keep her for me, lest I return one day.”

             “You will always have a welcome in my Keep.” 

******

             When Oswyn asked the whereabouts of Ellas, Burren handed him the letter that had been entrusted to him.

  _My Lord,_

_Apologies for not presenting myself to you in person for payment but, as you may have no doubt heard by now, I used questionable means to obtain a successful conclusion to our mission and I know as a sincere follower of the Chantry you would feel you were obliged to report me to the authorities or even turn me in yourself._

_I make no apology for what I did; many innocent people are now safe back with their families and friends as a result and the evil doers dealt with. I made that Crow answer my questions aloud so others could bear witness to the truth but in reality I learned so much more when I penetrated his thoughts.   They used the same sort of torture on our Keeper to get him to reveal the location of our clans. I simply fought fire with fire._

_I would also stress that this is not something taught among the Dalish.   On the contrary, they have as great an aversion to it as the Chantry.   I learned it from my father and he in turn acquired the knowledge whilst part of the Circle at Kinloch Hold, much of it taught to him by a Senior Enchanter there. I will leave you to ponder on the irony of that._

_I know you are an honourable man so I would ask that you give me what is my due for services rendered but that you deliver it to a little grey haired old lady in the Gwaren alienage by the name of Shirelle.   She runs the orphanage there.   You can’t miss it, there is a child’s painting of a magpie on the door. Then your conscience can rest easy that I in no way benefitted directly from your coin and that it has been used in accordance with the Maker’s word._

_Again, because you are an honourable man, I would ask a further favour from you. There is a debt of honour still outstanding to the elves of Ferelden from the time of the Orlesian occupation.   Maric and Loghain would not have succeeded in their endeavours and might well have lost their lives but for the efforts of the Night Elves.   My grandparents on my father’s side of the family were two of these.   They aided the rebels in the belief they were liberating Ferelden for the benefit of all races and that once the Orlesians were driven out, all the unjust laws that discriminate against elves would be done away with.   Such was not the case._

_Please, I ask you to find it in yourself to remind King Alistair and Queen Anora of this debt.   Encourage them to move to strike from our statutes all laws that mean elves cannot defend themselves or be defended from murderers, rapists and thieves without actually committing an offence.   Ensure that justice against the perpetrators of these crimes is applied equally whether that person is noble or commoner, so that we are truly a nation of free people under the law of the Maker.   Lastly, when this has been done, so elves no longer regard the gates of the alienage as a protection rather than a prison, tear down the walls that divide race from race so we are united again as we once were under the leadership of Andraste and Shartan._

_May the Maker bless you and the Dread Wolf never hear your step; Dareth shiral._

_Ellas_

He handed to letter to Jasce. “Well, what do you think?”

           “I think the laddie’s right, you would have felt obliged to turn him in.”

           "But I can’t excuse blood magic can I, particularly when it seemed like torture?”

           “Like he says, what else could he do?   It’s my understanding that the Crows condition their members to withstand torture by actually torturing them.   I’ve also heard that to break that sort of conditioning would likely cause pain regardless of the methods used. In fact you’re breaking the mind rather than the body.”

           “That’s terrifying.”

           “Yes, it truly is.”

           “So what do you think I should do?”          

           “I think you should start considering whether the Chantry had their own reasons for condemning magic they couldn’t control but all magic is a gift of the Maker.   Would Andraste have condemned him for what he did?”

            Burren gave a cough to remind Oswyn of his presence.

            “You have something to add to the debate?” Oswyn raised an eyebrow at him.

            “I may not have seen what he did to the Crow but I’ve spoken with those that were there. They say that his eyes glowed. Jasce, you’ll confirm what they said won’t you?”

            “They certainly seemed abnormally bright.”

            “I was witness to everything that happened at the end.   His eyes glowed then too.   The Magister’s eyes didn’t glow like that.”

            “Meaning?”

            “I think it may have been a different magic that he was using.”

            “What exactly?”

            “I don’t know, it’s just a hunch of mine.”

            “Your affection and loyalty do you credit, Burren, but even Ellas admits to using blood magic.   I’ll think on it some more, so I’ll know what to do should our paths ever cross again.   In the meantime, what should I do about the reward Jasce?”

            “Like he says, you’re an honourable man. Do as he suggests and let the little old lady have the gold.”

            “You can take it then. Don’t want to risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

            “It’ll be a pleasure. I’ll set out in the morning.”

            “Take Honey then, it’ll be easier on you that way and quicker. I’ll return to Dragon’s Peak on the Green Dale.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

A letter was awaiting Oswyn on his return from Brandyholme.

  _Dear Oz_

_I have just enjoyed the best three days of my life, or was it four? I was passed out for some of the time._

_The moment we got your raven we acted upon it. I was afraid that Anora would object to my being part of the action but instead she insisted upon it.   She told me to go find a fast ship at once. As fortune would have it the fastest ship on eastern seas was in dock, the Siren’s Call, captained by my old comrade in arms, Isabella, or Admiral Isabella as she now likes to be known. I went in search of her in the Pearl and when I gave her the story she was only too happy to oblige._

_When we got to the harbour, not only had Anora already assembled our soldiers but she was also dressed for combat herself and insisted on coming too. Yes, you heard me, Anora! Apparently the rumours are true and she and Cailan used to get up to all sorts of antics before he became king._

_It turned out that a fast ship wasn’t really necessary as the Sea Witch was listing badly when we caught up with her a day later and was attempting to limp back to port.   However, it did mean we caught her when still in Ferelden waters, which could be important legally, so Anora says. She knows best so I assume it’s true._

_The sailors on the Sea Witch signalled us asking for a tow but we boarded them anyway.   We were never in any real sort of danger and there was only a brief fight, I think they were a bit t taken by surprise, but it was good while it lasted and Anora did her bit. Chip off the old block. Loghain would be proud. Naturally Anora seems to believe he was with us in spirit. I haven’t the heart to tell what the Grey Wardens think about that._

_Alfonso was making all sorts of threats until we opened up the hold.   You were right, they were intending picking up a cargo of slaves.   There were the cages and manacles and everything.   So we used them on Alfonso and his crew.   Anora said something about poetic justice.   I gather there were two other ships that were lost at sea in the storm. They had picked up only one survivor who kept staring vacantly ahead and muttering something about Aban’Atashi._

_On the way back Anora said that now she felt she had atoned for what her father had done to the elves during the Blight. I never knew she felt she needed to do that. After all, it was she who put us on to him in the first place. Then she also said how that there was some debt owing to the elves because of their support during the rebellion.   Apparently she heard about the Night Elves during story time with Loghain as a little girl. So we’ll be giving some thought to that as well.   Then Isabella said that she felt she had laid the ghosts of her past to rest too. It seemed that everyone was baring their soul, so I admitted to Anora that I had probably projected some of my anger at Loghain on to her and when all was said and done his paranoia partly had been caused by my brother nearly selling us out to Orlais. Everyone seemed to feel a bit better after that._

_We got back to port, shut Alfonso and his crew in our dampest dungeon and got young Connor to place some really strong magical wards on the doors. That was Isabella’s idea. She said you never know with Crows and what with the Antivan trade delegation there are probably a fair few in Denerim at present._

_Well we gave them fair warning the following day of how we feel about their association with slavers. Anora gave me leave to execute Alfonso and the others in the main square where everyone could see, whilst she informed people of the reason.   By now your other raven had arrived confirming that all our citizens had been saved by the joint efforts of the Foresters and the Dalish, so she read that out to them too. There was much cheering, particularly from the elves._

_Then the Antivan trade delegation come up all hot under the collar because apparently someone had authorised a search of their ships that morning and they weren’t happy about it.   They were quoting all sorts of legal jargon, citing diplomatic immunity, lardy dee dar dee dar. This sort of thing generally goes over my head.   Anora’s much better at it; I have to admit in that respect we really make a good team. She in fact was the one who had authorised the search._

_“Would you like me to take this one, dear,” she says with a wicked looking grin._

_“Of course”, says I, “because clearly she knows what she’s about and I don’t. Go right ahead.”_

_She tosses a set of manacles at the feet of the guy._

_“It seems your ships have been used in the past for slaving or possibly you were planning on using them in the future. So you can say what you like but the law is on our side.   In fact I think we’d rather you just left, now.”_

_He just stands there his mouth opening and closing but nothing seems to be coming out but he hasn’t moved yet, so Anora says in her most refined accent._

_“Will you please just fuck off back to Antiva.”_

_Now as I say, I’m not up on these matters but I don’t think that is diplomatic language. It’s then that I realise that she’s already a little bit tipsy.   Then I notice Isabella standing off to one side trying to keep a straight face and I know she’s had something to do with this.   Real chummy now are Isabella and Anora._

_After that things really took off. Anora had set the wheels in motion the previous night for a big celebration. Yes, I know, gruesome beheadings isn’t something we should celebrate, except they were slavers, so we should._

_It started just after midday and went on all night and into the next day as well. That’s when I passed out. It wasn’t just in the palace either but everywhere there was a big street party. Everyone agreed it was the best party they’d had since Maric beheaded Meghren, even better than when we killed the archdemon. Well, to be fair, that was rather spoilt by the fact that a lot of innocent people died._

_You won’t believe this but they’re calling me Alistair the Great. You don’t seem to have to do much these days to earn such a title except bask in the reflected glory of the efforts of others. Then again, Isabella might have had something to do with that._

_The three stooges, that’s Anora’s name for Eamon, Teagan and Isolde by the way, were the only ones who didn’t seem to approve of our antics.   There were drinking games, wild dancing and bawdy songs. It turns out Anora knows a few that even made me blush. Mind you I have to admit I blush easily but even Isabella seemed impressed. Seems Anora learned them with Cailan too.   She finds it a lot easier talking about him now._

_Now I know what you’re thinking, aren’t they being a bit complacent, they’ve just given the finger to the Crows and there they are partying, what about the guards?   Right ahead of you, but you see we’ve got a mage.   So while we were getting things set up, we put a notice on the front gate “No Admission Except on Party Business.”   Then once everything was prepared anyone who wanted to leave did and we changed it to “No Admission Until the Party is Over”, with my seal at the bottom.   On the inside there was another notice “No Exit Until Party is Over.” Anyone coming on legitimate business would see the notice outside and come back later. Anyone thinking of staggering home from the party early, would be reminded they were not allowed to leave “By Order of the King.”   You can’t get more explicit than that, so if they ignored it they only had themselves to blame if it didn’t work out well.  Connor then went round placing multiple wards and glyphs along the walls. He specialised in them at Kinloch Hold so he knows some interesting ones.   It would seem they worked because everyone made it through without trouble except the owners of the multiple pairs of burned out shoes we kept finding littered about the place afterwards._

_The celebrations were nearly derailed around midnight when we were all in our cups and Isabella turns to Anora and says: “As my new best friend, I think it is only fair to inform you that I’ve HAD your husband.” Somehow it seemed the whole hall heard this and every head turned in our direction mouths agape. Well you could have heard a pin drop and I was holding my breath waiting for things to explode but Anora says calm as you please. “Oh really, did he taste nice?”_

_The room exploded with cheers and laughter, the old timers banging on the tables with approval, except the three stooges. I think Isolde may have fainted from shock or at least pretended to do so. Eamon nearly had a heart attack and Teagan looked like he always does now, a sour prune. It’s a shame. He used to be such fun. I blame the Orlesians personally. He’s never been the same since Eamon suggested sending him there as our ambassador. Everyone blames the Orlesians, it’s our national sport._

_Now of course it is possible that Anora thought she meant Cailan, because, as you know, he had a bit of a reputation my brother. Like father, like son, eh?   With any luck, though, she won’t even remember it.   If she should bring it up in front of you, act like you know nothing, which to be fair you don’t._

_Things are much better between Anora and me now, I mean REALLY much better, if you catch my drift.   Isabella has given Anora a Rivaini fertility talisman that she swears will guarantee conception.   She did this over breakfast the following morning and Eamon snorted derision at the idea, talking of primitive superstitions, but Anora was delighted with it and told him to go fuck himself.   I’ve really seen a different side to Anora these last few days. Isabella gave me a big wink on Eamon’s blind side, so I think it may have been something they cooked up together to discomfort him and may be finally take the heat off Anora if we don’t produce an heir.   Mind you, we’re both really hopeful that this time it might actually happen._

_Anyway the purpose of this letter is that Anora agrees we both need a holiday away from Court.   We’ve just a few more loose ends to tie up and then we’ll be coming to see you.   Anora is writing her letter to Divine Le…Victoria asking for her to officially denounce slavers generally and Alfonso Valisti specifically, so that will give us the weight of the church as well as secular laws for our action.   Anora is pretty confident that in the face of the evidence and with the Divine’s condemnation, the other Crow’s will find it expedient to remove House Valisti altogether from their ranks. Isabella says this is the second time they have been associated with Tevinter and it has ended disastrously._

_I’ve just realised that I’ve written more in this letter than I have in my entire life before this.   Still, I just couldn’t wait to tell you all about it and naturally I couldn’t use a scribe. Not that we won’t talk about it again, when we stay with you and of course we will want to hear what happened with you._

_One final thing, there will be a Guerrin with us. Not one of the three stooges but Connor.   He came to me just now and asked if he could come too. I said I would have to ask Anora first and he said he already had and she was happy to have him along but she said I would have the final say in the matter because after all I am the king. Pinch yourself did you? No, you’re not dreaming.   Alistair the Great eh!_

_So there you have it, three house guests should be arriving in the next couple of weeks or so.   You’d better have some fun things for us to do. Just kidding you, we’ll be fine just being in your company._

_Anora sends you her love, Al_


	19. Chapter 19

            Burren had not long been back in Dragon’s Peak when Gerry brought him a message that he had found attached to the bird table in the garden.   When he unsealed it the message was brief.

            _Meet me at noon by the old oak at the end of the village._

            He guessed it was from Ellas as the handwriting looked familiar but clearly his friend feared discovery.   Luckily Oswyn didn’t expect him to take lunch with him, so Burren was able to escape the Keep without comment.   When he reached the oak, Ellas called to him from the undergrowth nearby.   Burren hugged him enthusiastically.

            “I’m sorry I couldn’t send you a more personal message but it would seem that you are a traditional dwarf when it comes to dreaming.”

            Burren looked at him puzzled.

            “Didn’t Oswyn tell you?   That’s how I got the message to him so quickly in Brandyholme. I used dream sending but apparently it doesn’t work with dwarves.”

            “That is disappointing.   I’d like to have you in my dreams. I’ll just have to pretend.”

            “Will Oswyn be expecting you back soon?”

            “No, I always have free time after lunch.”

            “Good, there’s something I want to show you. Only you have to promise to keep it secret.   If you use it for one of your assignations then it will ruin it for me.”

            “Actually I don’t feel like having assignations any more, apart from with you that is.”

            That confession seemed to cheer Ellas.

            “Come on then.”

            He led him into the forest, heading for higher ground to the north of the Keep, just below the mountain that gave the area its name.

            “I realise it is a bit of a trek for someone not familiar with the forest but do you think you could manage to come here on your own in the future?”

            “Why on my own?”

            “It would save me having to come near the Keep and I thought this could be our special place.”

            He ducked behind a low tree and beckoned Burren to follow him. There he was confronted by the entrance to a cave.

            “I think it might be possible to ward it so that either of us could enter but no one else,” said Ellas. “Welcome to my grotto.”

            “Grotto?”

            “Well that sounds so much more exciting than simply a cave and besides it is.”

            Burren crossed the threshold to be confronted by an enchanting sight, a room filled with mobiles of coloured crystals that captured and directed light from the outside into the interior.   There was a comfortable looking chair and a bed, a table with various bottles and mixing bowls on it and a book shelf with various tomes.

            “This is amazing.”

            “I’m glad you like it.  I thought it could be a sort of retreat for you even when I’m not here.   If I come back but don’t have time to wait, I can leave messages for you here and you can do the same for me.”

            “I’m touched that you want to share it with me that way but why don’t you come to the Keep?”

            “I can’t.   Oswyn will feel obliged to arrest me for the blood magic.”

            “I’m sure he won’t. Jasce spoke up for you. He’s away in the south delivering your gold to your orphanage or I’d suggest you came back with me now.”

            “May be when he gets back then.   I take it my blood magic doesn’t bother you then?”

            “Are you serious? You’re friggin’ awesome.   You melted a Magister.”

            Ellas laughed. “I did that.”

            “Something I am curious about, though.   Why did your eyes glow?”

            “Did they?”

            “Don’t you know?”

            “Well, since I’m looking out, I can’t see my own eyes.”

            “I see what you mean.   They do glow though.   Has no one mentioned it before?”

             “No, never, but my Da’s eyes used to glow when he did powerful magic, so maybe I inherited it from him.”

             “Your father’s eyes glowed you say?”

             “Yes, right up until just before he died. Then the light left them.”

             “Hold on, you say you saw the light go out of them?”

             “Yes.   He thought he’d failed to save me from the Templar.   He was standing there with the sword thrust through him and he gave this despairing look in my direction and the light went out of his eyes and then he died.”

             “So what happened then?”

             “The Templar was going to kill my mother, so I used my Da’s blood and melted him like I did the Magister.”

             “You mean the Magister wasn’t the first time you did that?”

             “No, it was the second.”

             “So it is possible your eyes glowed then too?”

             Ellas shrugged. “I suppose so.”

             Burren was thoughtful.   “I know I’m no expert on these things but is it possible the glowing eyes have something to do with the magic you are using?”

             “Well anything is possible.”

             “So it could also be possible that you aren’t using blood magic at all.   You just think that’s what you are doing.”

             "Well, if that’s true, it might explain why I was able to do the magic when I was so young.”

             “Okay, I want you to go through the whole episode again while I take notes.   Then with your permission I’d like to ask the College of Enchanters about it.”

             “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

             “It’s better than spending your entire life thinking you need to be shunned as a blood mage.   I don’t care either way but I really think you need to find out.”

             “All right, if it means that much to you, I agree.”

             “Good.” Burren gave a grin. “There’s something else that I think you ought to know.”

             “What’s that?”

             He raised his eyebrows expressively. “You look great naked.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

            When Jasce returned from Gwaren he found that Burren and Gerry, with the permission of Oswyn, had been re-purposing the Chantry building to what the locals now dubbed the ‘kennel of the Maker’ and the ‘worship of the True Faith’.     They had white washed all the walls and the local people had assisted them in painting images of heroes of their faith and scenes of important events associated with them underneath.

            “Initially we were going to have human heroes down one side and elven down the other,” explained Burren. “But we felt that went against the spirit of unity, so we just began with Andraste at one end and then worked our way round.”

            Andraste was shown with her barbarian army, then her meeting with Shartan and his allies, the battle of Valarian Fields and the gifting of the sword Glandivalis.   They hadn’t dwelt on the betrayal but concentrated on the positive images of a united people.

            The next sequence showed Gelgennig, who bore a passing resemblance to Jasce, receiving a vision of Andraste and then uniting the tribes, but in particular the Ash Warriors, identifiable by their mabari hounds, adopting the faith of the Maker.

            There was also a panel showing the exploits of the Grey Wardens in combating the Blights, culminating with the efforts of the Hero of Ferelden, the defeat of the arch-demon and the crowning of King Alistair and Queen Anora. This also showed the fall of the Ash Warriors at Ostagar and the survival of Jasce and Bear.

            Finally were recorded the events of recent weeks, in particular the Battle of Smugglers’ Cove. Each of their contributions was shown from Oswyn and his knights to Gerry and his ravens, including the valiant stand by Issala and her group who held the line protecting the prisoners. Jasce noted the defeat of the Magister was graphically depicted, including Ellas with glowing blue eyes.   He guessed that Burren had ensured that detail was included.

            In the centre of the aisle was a circular structure that was adorned with images of mabari hounds, horses, ravens and other creatures.

            “This is the place where the choir will stand,” said Gerry.   “On Holy Days we will sing the song of creation and other authentic verses from the time of Andraste to the present.”

            “I thought you objected to being in the choir?”

            “That was before Divine Victoria declared that all races and genders could be part of the clergy.   Nor are we going to chant the words but sing them.”

            “I see.   So has Oswyn seen your efforts?”

            “Yes,” responded Burren. “It was his idea to add the text on the wall at the front.”

            There was recounted the vision of Divine Victoria when she was simply Sister Leliana, followed by the sign of the Maker in a simple flower and what it meant to her.

 

            “Even in the midst of darkness there is hope and beauty – Have faith.”

            Then her belief concerning the Maker that had sustained her:

            “He is still here. I hear him in the wind and the waves.  

            I feel him in the sunlight that warms my skin.

            I know what the Chantry says about the Maker.

            And what should I believe?

            What I feel in my heart or what others tell me.”

 

            Beneath this had been added words attributed to Ellas.

 

            “They say the Maker has left us but they’re wrong

            He’s there in the wind in the trees

            In the rush of the river

            In the bird song on the mountain

            And the cry of the deer

            In the laughter of children

            And the fellowship of friends.

            My gift to you, Dareth Shiral.


	21. Chapter 21

          The same night that the royal family arrived, Oswyn received another dream sending.

  _“I thank you for delivering the gold as I requested.   I’m still not sure how things stand between us but mutual friends assure me that I should trust you. So if you have no objection to my company in the future, or receiving further messages this way, please paint the image of a magpie onto the door of your Keep_

_It would also be helpful, because if it isn’t left clear I might keep pestering you, that if you don’t want anything more to do with me or to receive further messages you chalk “NO” on the door and I’ll bother you no more.”_

The following morning Oswyn was unsure what to make of the dream. Had it really been Ellas or was it just his unconscious desire that it should be the case?

         He sat up in bed and swung his legs gingerly to one side as he always did.   However, just as had been the case ever since Ellas had given him the herbal tonic, there was no pain as he lowered them to the floor and allowed them to take his weight.   The benefits of the herbal tonic were still evident.   He wasn’t cured as such and he could still feel the weakness present in his limbs but without the accompanying stiffness and pain that had never left him before.

         He pondered the matter, considering everything he knew about Ellas and all his actions in the time he had known him.  He also thought about the strange talisman that had been recovered from the Magister’s assistants, a three headed gold dragon in front of a blacked out sun. An indication that they had been dealing with an Old God cult and the matter might not have been ended with the death of the Magister. Then he called to Jasce, whom he knew would have slept as always on a mattress outside his door.

         “Yes, my lord,” Jasce appeared in the doorway still yawning and bleary eyed. 

         “Are you any good at painting?”

****

         The snow leopard crept carefully through the undergrowth that ringed the hillside to the Keep.   As he neared the region of the front door he discerned voices bickering.

         “No, Jasce, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t look like that.   The wings are all wrong.”

         “Well, you had to paint it as a magpie in flight.   Why couldn’t you have just placed it sitting on a branch or something?”

         “I wanted to catch the character of the bird; you need movement for that. It gives you the sense of freedom.”

         “Well it looks like it’s swooping to me,” said another voice that the leopard didn’t recognise. “And you know that …..”

         “Swooping is bad!” A chorus of voices finished the sentence, followed by laughter all round.

         The big cat poked his head out of the undergrowth and surveyed the scene. Two figures were standing with brushes in hand critiquing their own work, with a mabari alongside one of them, his tail wagging furiously.  There were three further figures watching them, one tall man standing up, a woman sitting down and a younger man who appeared to be leaning on a staff. His curiosity was roused; he didn’t realise that Bann Sighard knew any mages.  

          “I know,” said the tall man. “Why don’t we all paint magpies and then vote on whose is best.”

          “I don’t know, Al,” said Oswyn. “After all you’re the king and we wouldn’t want to offend Alistair the Great by telling him his picture is shite.”

          The snow leopard’s eyes went wider in amazement. Alistair? _That_ was King Alistair?

          “No,” said the man with the staff. “You can’t leave it like that anyway; it’s bad luck. One for sorrow.”

          “That’s right, Connor,” agreed the lady. “The old rhyme, how does it go now?”

          “One for sorrow,” repeated Connor.

          “Two for joy”, said Jasce.

          “Three for a girl,” said the lady.

          “Four for a boy,” said King Alistair. “Why my love, I do believe it’s going to be a boy.”

          Queen Anora! Curiouser and curiouser.

          “You don’t even know she’s pregnant yet,” objected Oswyn.

          “Yes, we do,” insisted Alistair and shared a grin with Anora. “It’s guaranteed.”

          “If we each paint a magpie, there will be five,” said Connor.

          “Five for silver,” Alistair mused. “No, I don’t like that.”

          “Say why don’t we get Scruffy to paint one?” said Jasce. “We could tie a brush to his tail. Six for gold.”

          The leopard gave a sneeze that could have passed for a snigger and the mabari swivelled his head in that direction with pricked ears.

          “He’s kidding, right?” Alistair sounded doubtful.

          “Believe me, he really isn’t,” Oswyn said with a wry smile.

          Scruffy started to trot away from them towards the bushes and the leopard drew back slightly so that his head disappeared from view.               

          “It would be awful,” said Alistair, “it wouldn’t even look like one. That wouldn’t count.”

          “Yes, it would,” Anora corrected him. “It’s called Abstract Expressionism. It’s all the rage in Val Royeaux.”

          The puppy was bouncing from side to side with enthusiasm now as he neared the spot, before coming to a halt, his rear end characteristically stuck in the air and wagging with perpetual motion, peering in.

          “Since when do you know so much about what’s popular in Orlais?” challenged Alistair.

          “One has to keep abreast of these things, dear,” she responded patiently. “You never know when it might come in handy.   Tell you what, instead of the door, why don’t we get him to paint a canvas? Then I could give it to Isolde on her birthday, or better still I could send it as a gift to Gaspard, as a token of good relations between our nations.”

          The leopard gave a low, feline growl, followed by a hiss. Scruffy gave a yelp and scurried back to Jasce, hiding behind him, all his fur standing on end.

          “What’s the matter boy, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

          “More like a powder puff,” said Alistair. “It’s all that talk of Orlesians, isn’t it, fella? That would be enough to put the wind up any good Ferelden.”

          “We’ve still got a problem then,” said Connor. “If Scruffy isn’t going to paint the sixth magpie, then we’re back to five.”

          “Hold on,” said Jasce. He opened the door and called into the interior. “Burren.”

          “Yep.” 

          “We need you for something out here.”

          “Okay but I’ve a lot of correspondence.”

          “It won’t take long.”   

          Burren appeared and they reclosed the door.  

          “What do you think?” asked Jasce.

          “The wings are all wrong.”

          “Told you,” said Oswyn.

          “Do you think you could do any better? Only we need another magpie painted.”

          “I’ll give it a go.”

          “Excellent.”

          “Say, I’ve just had a wonderful idea,” said Anora. “Burren can be our renowned artist. Scruffy paints the pictures and Burren takes all the credit. We could keep the joke going almost indefinitely like that.”

          “So, Burren,” said Alistair. “How would you like to be a celebratory?”

          “No, it should be seven,” Oswyn declared suddenly, making them all jump, whilst he was envisaging the flock of magpies that would shortly be adorning the door of his Keep, “Six around the edge and a seventh in the middle. We could all work on that and involve Gerry too. “Seven for a secret, never to be told,” he glanced across at Jasce. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

          “Definitely,” agreed Jasce.

          Ellas felt a lightness of heart.   When he had instructed him to paint a magpie on the door to the Keep, he hadn’t expected the Bann to paint it for himself, let alone involve the King of Ferelden.   Clearly the man tended to put a very literal interpretation on instructions.   He would have to bear that in mind in the future.   He liked the touch with Burren though, being passed off as a celebrated artist whilst hoodwinking the Orlesians into accepting paintings done by a mabari wagging its tail.   That was almost on a par with the political scheming of Orzammar. His family would be proud.

          It was good to know he had a future with this person, a good man with good friends.   With that thought to cheer him, he turned and headed back to the forest that was his home.   He climbed up to the peak of a nearby mountain and looked out over the world, the land and the people he loved. He would keep on fighting evil and using their own methods against them if needs be.

         “Not for my own power, not for my own glory, not even for my own survival, but only for the sake of others, if nothing else will do. This do I promise.”

 


	22. Epilogue

          “And that my children is how Ferelden healed its heart that had been broken by the Blight and the elves finally found a home where they could be safe with friends from all races.”

          The Pied Piper gave a bow to his audience.

          “Did the King get his son?”

          “Yes, the line of Calenhad was not broken. Anything else you wish to know?”

          “How did Ellas do the magic when he was ten?”

          “Ah now, if you’ve been paying attention, you’d know the answer to that but hush now, remember, seven for a secret never to be told.”

          “Did all that really happen?” It was one of the mothers present.

          “Typical of an adult; always there with the scepticism.”

          “So you’re saying it’s all true.”

          “That’s for you to decide.” He winked. “But all tales grow a little in the telling. Come now, let’s all join in one final song on the date that the Dalish were finally able to carry their children home. Let’s dance.”

          With that he started to play the pipe and stood in the centre as the children all joined hands in a giant circle and started to dance around him. Once they were established in the rhythm, he put down the pipe and began to sing:

 

          “And they carried home the children, and they mourned the ones that died.

          They shed their tears but they honoured them for all they had sacrificed.

          They put away their weapons, safe and sure for another day

          And they burned the Crows and the Magisters and the smoke went up in the air.

 

          But don’t you fear them my children because they will always be there

          The heroes of old and the heroes of now, there’re always heroes to spare

 

          There’s Jasce the stout hearted warrior and his noble gallant old Bear

          There’s Burren the untraditional dwarf and Oswyn on his golden mare

          There’s black eyed Issala and Gerry the raven friend

          The King of the Mountain, also is Ellas, the elf with the bright blue stare

 

          So don’t you fear them my children because they will always be there

          The heroes of old and the heroes of now, there’re always heroes to spare,

 

          So don’t you fear them my children because they will always be there

          The heroes of old and the heroes of now, there’re always heroes to spare,

          Yes to spare…..”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story grew out of the creation of a character for an RP thread. Ellas started as a development of a character from some unrelated fiction I had written for myself but then he began to grow in his own right. I have always been averse to playing a blood mage and there have been mixed messages from the writers on the games and in the novels as to whether the Chantry were right to condemn blood magic as inherently dangerous. However, the more I thought about it, the more I felt I wanted to explore the concept, particularly when I discovered some of the specific blood mage spells in the Core Rule Book. Gradually I developed the back story for Ellas involving his father and the Circle at Kinloch Hold, his association with other characters originating from that location and his subsequent escape. By this time I was fully invested in the idea of an ethical blood mage. It was proving to be an interesting concept.
> 
> I then started considering other original characters I could introduce to the story. Bann Oswyn Sighard had only a small bit part in DAO but my knowledge of what racking will do to the body made me consider how the aftermath of his torture by Howe might have affected him. Later I realised that I had said that he was incapable of writing for himself and realised that he would naturally require a permanent secretary on hand to do this for him, particularly when away from his Keep. From this idea, Burren was born, the disgraced dwarf noble from Orzammar, who found himself a useful occupation working for Oswyn.
> 
> Issala the Qunari came about by considering the situation of a female qunari who wished to be a fighter but did not want to be Aqun-Athlok since she did not regard herself as male. By contrast, Gerry is a transgender male who is not committed to undertaking roles that are ‘traditionally’ thought of as male but merely wants their view of their own gender to be acknowledged.
> 
> Finally, there was Jasce Wolfsbane, the Ash Warrior. I had all but forgotten about the Ash Warriors, they played such a small role at the beginning of DAO, for the obvious reason that they would have been standing on the front line with Cailan and the Grey Wardens and would have been wiped out along with them by the betrayal. So I made Jasce the sole survivor of the encounter. Then in researching the character I discovered the revelation that whilst the Ash Warriors were devoted to the Maker and Andraste, they had never recognised either the Chantry or their Chant of Light. For three games I had been saying I wanted the ability to play a character who believed in the Maker but not the Chantry and here was the justification for it. Jasce as a character just grew from there.
> 
> As for the Arlathvhen, whilst it was just about conceivable that the all the clans would gather together on a ten year cycle when it seemed they were confined to Ferelden and southern Orlais, once it became clear they were more widely dispersed across Thedas, it just didn’t seem practicable. So for this story I developed the idea that the location would vary from region to region, and the Keepers would travel to the agreed location of the main Hahren’al (gathering of the elders) for that particular cycle, but the rest of the clans from their home region would stay in a secure location and hold a mini-Alathvhen to await their return. This would allow the dissemination of information as intended and each region to experience the Hahren’al with their entire clan at least once in, say, a thirty year cycle of varying the main Arlathvhen from east to west of the Frostback Mountains and north or south of the Waking Sea.
> 
> I have used many spells in this story not found in the games but which are found in the Core Rule Book. They will probably never appear in the games because of the difficulties associated with depicting them effectively on screen and the problems with programming. However, they are clearly part of the Thedas world and therefore I wished to include them, particularly as some are highly relevant to the plot.


End file.
